<ri)rl5tine 


»r 


'nMlce  (r^olmon6ele^ 


eari  >J_afiiir"  "«.«»»,•»<.:"-»-■  tr 


UBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


CHRISTINE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NSW  YOKK   •    BOSTON   •   CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MAOIILLAN  &  CO.,  Limitto 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


CHRISTINE 


BY 


ALICE  CHOLMONDELEY 

III 


Nrm  ^urfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COxMPANY 

1917 

All  TiffhU  reserved 


fRQ:005 


COPTBIGHT,    1917, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published,  July,  1917. 
Reprinted.     August,  Four  Times,  September,  1917. 

i'wice: 


CHRISTINE 

My  daughter  Christine,  who  wrote  me  these 
letters,  died  at  a  hospital  in  Stuttgart  on  the 
morning  of  August  8th,  1914,  of  acute  double 
'pneumonia.  I  have  kept  the  letters  private 
for  nearly  three  years,  because,  apart  from  the 
love  in  them  that  made  them  sacred  things  in 
days  when  we  each  still  hoarded  what  we  had 
of  good,  they  seemed  to  me,  who  did  not  know 
the  Germans  and  thought  of  them,  as  most 
people  in  England  for  a  long  wliile  thought, 
without  any  bitterness  and  with  a  great  in- 
clination to  explain  away  and  excuse,  too 
extreme  and  sweeping  in  their  judgments. 
Now,  as  the  years  have  passed,  and  each  has 
been  more  full  of  actions  on  Germany's  part 
difficult  to  explain  except  in  one  way  and  im- 
possible to  excuse,  I  feel  that  these  letters,  giv- 
ing a  picture  of  the  state  of  mind  of  the  Ger- 
man public  immcdiatehf  before  the  war,  and 
written  by  some  one  who  went  there  enthusi- 
astically ready  to  like  everything  and  every- 
body, may  have  a  certain  value  in  helping  to 


CHRISTINE 

put  together  a  small  corner  of  the  great  pic- 
ture of  Germany  which  it  will  be  necessary  to 
keep  clear  and  naked  before  us  in  the  future  if 
the  world  is  to  be  saved, 

I  am  publishing  the  letters  just  as  they  came 
to  me,  leaving  out  nothing.  We  no  longer  in 
these  days  belong  to  small  circles,  to  limited 
little  groups.  We  have  been  stripped  of  our 
secrecies  and  of  our  private  hoards.  We  live 
in  a  great  relationship.  We  share  our  griefs; 
and  anything  there  is  of  love  and  happiness, 
any  smallest  expression  of  it,  should  be  slmred 
too.  This  is  why  I  am  leaving  out  nothing  in 
the  letters. 

The  war  killed  Christine,  just  as  surely  as 
if  she  had  been  a  soldier  in  the  trenches.  I  will 
not  write  of  her  great  gift,  which  was  extraor- 
dinary. That  too  has  been  lost  to  the  world, 
broken  and  thrown  away  by  the  war, 

I  never  saw  her  again,  I  had  a  telegram 
saying  she  was  dead.  I  tried  to  go  to  Stutt- 
gart, but  was  turned  back  at  the  frontier.  The 
two  last  letters,  the  ones  from  Halle  and  from 
Wurzburg,  reached  me  after  I  knew  that  she 
was  dead. 

Alice  Cholmondeley. 

London,  May,  1917. 


Publishers'  Note 

The  Publishers  have  considered  it  best  to  alter 
some  of  the  personal  names  in  the  following  pages. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/christineOOchol 


CHRISTINE 


CHRISTINE 

Lutzowstrasse  49,  Berlin^ 

Thursday,  May  28th,  1914. 
My  blessed  little  mother, 

Here  I  am  safe,  and  before  I  unpack  or  do 
a  thing  I'm  writing  you  a  little  line  of  love.  I 
sent  a  telegram  at  the  station,  so  that  you'll 
know  at  once  that  nobody  has  eaten  me  on  the 
way,  as  you  seemed  rather  to  fear.  It  is  won- 
derful to  be  here,  quite  on  my  own,  as  if  I  were 
a  young  man  starting  his  career.  I  feel  quite 
solemn,  it's  such  a  great  new  adventure. 
Kloster  can't  see  me  till  Saturday,  but  the 
moment  I've  had  a  bath  and  tidied  up  I  shall 
get  out  my  fiddle  and  see  if  I've  forgotten  how 
to  play  it  between  I^ondon  and  Berlin.  If 
only  I  can  be  sure  you  aren't  going  to  be  too 
lonely!  Beloved  mother,  it  will  only  be  a  year, 
or  even  less  if  I  work  fearfully  hard  and  really 
get  on,  and  once  it  is  over  a  year  is  nothing. 
Oh,  I  know  you'll  write  and  tell  me  you  don't 
mind  a  bit  and  rather  like  it,  but  you  see  your 


2  CHRISTINE 

Chris  hasn't  lived  with  you  all  her  life  for  noth- 
ing; she  knows  you  very  well  now, — at  least, 
as  much  of  your  dear  sacred  self  that  you  will 
show  her.  Of  course  I  know  you're  going  to 
be  brave  and  all  that,  but  one  can  be  very  un- 
happy while  one  is  being  brave,  and  besides, 
one  isn't  brave  unless  one  is  suffering.  The 
worst  of  it  is  that  we're  so  poor,  or  you  could 
have  come  with  me  and  we'd  have  taken  a 
house  and  set  up  housekeeping  together  for 
my  year  of  study.  Well,  we  won't  be  poor  for 
ever,  little  mother.  I'm  going  to  be  your  son, 
and  husband,  and  everything  else  that  loves 
and  is  devoted,  and  I'm  going  to  earn  both  our 
livings  for  us,  and  take  care  of  you  forever. 
You've  taken  care  of  me  till  now,  and  now 
it's  my  turn.  You  don't  suppose  I'm  a  great 
hulking  person  of  twenty  two,  and  five  foot 
ten  high,  and  with  this  lucky  facility  in  fiddling, 
for  nothing?  It's  a  good  thing  it  is  summer 
now,  or  soon  will  be,  and  you  can  work  away 
in  your  garden,  for  I  know  that  is  where  you 
are  happiest ;  and  by  the  time  it's  winter  you'll 
be  used  to  my  not  being  there,  and  besides 
there'll  be  the  spring  to  look  forward  to,  and 
in  the  spring  I  come  home,  finished.  Then 
I'll  start  playing  and  making  money,  and  we'll 
have  the  little  house  we've  dreamed  of  in  Lon- 


CHRISTINE  3 

don,  as  well  as  our  cottage,  and  we'll  be  happy 
ever  after.  And  after  all,  it  is  really  a  beauti- 
ful arrangement  that  we  only  have  each  other 
in  the  world,  because  so  we  each  get  the  other's 
concentrated  love.  Else  it  would  be  spread  out 
thin  over  a  dozen  husbands  and  brothers  and 
people.  But  for  all  that  I  do  wish  dear  Dad 
were  still  ahve  and  with  you. 

This  pension  is  the  top  flat  of  a  four-storied 
house,  and  there  isn't  a  lift,  so  I  arrived  breath- 
less, besides  being  greatly  battered  and  all 
crooked  after  my  night  sitting  up  in  the  train; 
and  Frau  Berg  came  and  opened  the  door  her- 
self when  I  rang,  and  when  she  saw  me  she 
threw  up  two  immense  hands  and  exclaimed, 
''Herr  Gott!" 

"Nicht  wahr?"  I  said,  agreeing  with  her, 
for  I  knew  I  must  be  looking  too  awful. 

She  then  said,  while  I  stood  holding  on  to 
my  violin-case  and  umbrella  and  coat  and  a 
paper  bag  of  ginger  biscuits  I  had  been  solac- 
ing myself  with  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 
that  she  hadn't  known  wlien  exactly  to  expect 
me,  so  she  had  decided  not  to  expect  me  at  all, 
for  she  had  observed  that  the  things  you  do  not 
expect  com.e  to  you,  and  the  things  you  do  ex- 
pect do  not;  besides,  she  was  a  busy  woman, 
and  busy  women  waste  no  time  expecting  any- 


4  CHRISTINE 

thing  in  any  case;  and  then  she  said,  "Come 
in." 

"Seien  Sie  willkommen,  mein  Frdulein"  she 
continued,  with  a  sort  of  stern  cordiahty,  when 
I  was  over  the  threshold,  holding  out  both 
her  hands  in  massive  greeting;  and  as  both 
mine  were  full  she  caught  hold  of  what  she 
could,  and  it  was  the  bag  of  biscuits,  and  it 
burst. 

"Herr  Gott!"  cried  Frau  Berg  again,  as 
they  rattled  away  over  the  wooden  floor  of  the 
passage,  "Herr  Gott,  die  schonen  Kakes!" 
And  she  started  after  them ;  so  I  put  down  my 
things  on  a  chair  and  started  after  them  too, 
and  would  you  believe  it  the  biscuits  came  out 
of  the  corners  positively  cleaner  than  when 
they  went  in.  The  floor  cleaned  the  biscuits 
instead  of,  as  would  have  happened  in  Lon- 
don, the  biscuits  cleaning  the  floor,  so  you 
can  be  quite  happy  about  its  being  a  clean 
place. 

It  is  a  good  thing  I  learned  German  in  my 
youth,  for  even  if  it  is  so  rusty  at  present  that 
I  can  only  say  things  like  Nicht  walir,  I  can 
understand  everything,  and  I'm  sure  I'll  get 
along  very  nicely  for  at  least  a  week  on  the  few 
words  that  somehow  have  stuck  in  my  memory. 
I've  discovered  they  are: 


CHRISTINE  5 

Nicht  wahr, 
Wundervoll, 
Natiirlich, 
Herrlich, 
Ich  gratuliere, 

and 
Dock. 

And  the  only  one  with  the  faintest  approach 
to  contentiousness,  or  acidity,  or  any  of  the 
qualities  that  don't  endear  the  stranger  to  the 
indigenous,  is  docli. 

JVIy  bedroom  looks  very  clean,  and  is  roomy 
and  comfortable,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  work 
very  happily  in  it,  I'm  sure.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  much  excited  I  am  at  getting  here  and 
going  to  study  under  the  great  Kloster!  You 
darhng  one,  you  beloved  mother,  stinting  your- 
self, scraping  your  own  life  bare,  so  as  to  give 
me  this  chance.  Wont  I  work.  And  work. 
And  work.  And  in  a  year — no,  we  won't  call 
it  a  year,  we'll  say  in  a  few  months — I  shall 
come  back  to  you  for  good,  carrying  my 
sheaves  with  me.  Oh,  I  hope  there  will  be 
sheaves, — big  ones,  beautiful  ones,  to  lay  at 
your  blessed  feet!  Now  I'll  run  down  and 
post  this.  I  saw  a  letter-box  a  few  yards  down 
the  street.     And  then  I'll  have  a  bath  and  go 


6  CHRISTINE 

to  bed  for  a  few  hours,  I  think.  It  is  still  only 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  so  I  have  hours 
and  hours  of  today  before  me,  and  can  prac- 
tise this  afternoon  and  write  to  you  again  this 
evening.  So  good-bye  for  a  few  hours,  my 
precious  mother. 

Your  happy  Chris. 


May  28th.  Evening, 
It's  very  funny  here,  but  quite  comfortable. 
You  needn't  give  a  thought  to  my  comforts, 
mother  darhng.  There's  a  lot  to  eat,  and  if 
I'm  not  in  clover  I'm  certainly  in  feathers, — 
you  should  see  the  immense  sackful  of  them  in 
a  dark  red  sateen  bag  on  my  bed!  As  you 
have  been  in  Germany  trying  to  get  poor  Dad 
well  in  all  those  Kurorten,  you'll  understand 
how  queer  my  bedroom  looks,  like  a  very  sol- 
emn and  gloomy  drawingroom  into  which  it 
has  suddenly  occurred  to  somebody  to  put  a 
bed.  It  is  a  tall  room:  tall  of  ceihng,  which 
is  painted  at  the  corners  with  blue  clouds  and 
pink  cherubim — unmistakable  Germans — and 
tall  of  door,  of  which  there  are  three,  and  tall 
of  window,  of  which  there  are  two.  The  win- 
dows have  long  dark  curtains  of  rep  or  some- 
thing wooUy,  and  long  coffee-coloured  lace  cur- 
tains as  well;  and  there's  a  big  gi'cen  majohca 
stove  in  one  corner;  and  there's  a  dark  brown 
wall-paper  with  gilt  flowers  on  it;  and  an  elab- 
orate chandelier  hanging  from  a  coloured  plas- 
ter rosette  in  the  middle  of  the  ceiling,  all 


8  CHRISTINE 

twisty  and  gilt,  but  it  doesn't  light, — Wanda, 
the  maid  of  all  work,  brings  me  a  petrolemn 
lamp  with  a  green  glass  shade  to  it  when  it  gets 
dusk.  I've  got  a  very  short  bed  with  a  dark 
red  sateen  quilt  on  to  which  my  sheet  is  but- 
toned all  round,  a  pillow  propped  up  so  high 
on  a  wedge  stuck  under  the  mattress  that  I 
shall  sleep  sitting  up  almost  straight,  and  then 
as  a  crowning  gloiy  the  sack  of  feathers,  which 
will  do  beautifully  for  holding  me  down  when 
I'm  having  a  nightmare.  In  a  corner,  with  an 
even  greater  air  of  being  an  afterthought  than 
the  bed,  there's  a  very^  tiny  washstand,  and 
pinned  on  the  wall  behind  it  over  the  part  of 
the  wallpaper  I  might  splash  on  Sunday  morn- 
ings when  I'm  supposed  really  to  wash,  is  a 
strip  of  grey  linen  with  a  motto  worked  on  it 
in  blue  wool: 

Eigener  Heerd 
1st  Ooldes  Werth 

which  is  a  rhyme  if  you  take  it  in  the  proper 
spirit,  and  isn't  if  you  don't.  But  I  love  the 
sentiment,  don't  you?  It  seems  peculiarly 
sound  when  one  is  in  a  room  like  this  in  a 
strange  country.  And  what  I'm  here  for  and 
am  going  to  work  for  is  an  eigener  Heerd,  with 
you  and  me  one  each  side  of  it  warming  our 


CHRISTINE  9 

happy  toes  on  oui-  very  own  fender.  Oh, 
won't  it  be  too  lovely,  mother  darhng,  to  be 
together  again  in  our  very  own  home!  Able 
to  shut  ourselves  in,  shut  our  front  door  in  the 
face  of  the  world,  and  just  say  to  the  world, 
"There  now." 

There's  a  httle  looking-glass  on  a  nail  up 
above  tlie  eigener  Heerd  motto,  so  high  that  if 
it  hadn't  found  its  match  in  me  I'd  only  be  able 
to  see  my  eyebrows  in  it.  As  it  is,  I  do  see  as 
far  as  my  chin.  What  goes  on  below  that  I 
shall  never  know  while  I  continue  to  dwell  in 
the  Liitzowstrasse.  Outside,  a  very  long  way 
down,  foi'  the  house  has  high  rooms  right 
through  and  I'm  at  the  top,  trams  pass  almost 
constantly  along  the  street,  clanging  their  bells. 
They  sound  much  more  aggressive  than  other 
trams  I  have  heard,  or  else  it  is  because  my  ears 
.are  tired  tonight.  There  are  double  windows, 
though,  which  will  shut  out  the  noise  while  I'm 
practising — and  also  shut  it  in.  I  mean  to 
practise  eight  hours  eveiy  day  if  Kloster  will 
let  me, — twelve  if  needs  be,  so  I've  made  up 
my  mind  only  to  write  to  you  on  Sundays;  for 
if  I  don't  make  a  stern  rule  like  tliat  I  shall  be 
writing  to  you  every  day,  and  then  what  would 
liappen  to  the  eiglit  hours?  I'm  going  to  stai't 
them  tomorrow,  and  try  and  get  as  ready  as 


10  CHRISTINE 

I  can  for  the  great  man  on  Saturday.  I'm 
fearfully  nervous  and  afraid,  for  so  much  de- 
pends on  it,  and  in  spite  of  knowing  that  some- 
how from  somewhere  I've  got  a  kind  of  gift  for 
fiddling.  Heaven  knows  where  that  little  bit 
of  luck  came  from,  seeing  that  up  to  now, 
though  you're  such  a  perfect  listener,  you 
haven't  developed  any  particular  talent  for 
playing  anything,  have  you  mother  darling; 
and  poor  Dad  positively  preferred  to  be  in  a 
room  where  music  wasn't.  Do  you  remember 
how  he  used  to  say  he  couldn't  think  which  end 
of  a  violin  the  noises  came  out  of,  and  which- 
ever it  was  he  wished  they  wouldn't?  But 
what  a  mercy,  what  a  real  mercy  and  solution 
of  our  difficulties,  that  I've  got  this  one  thing 
that  perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  do  really  well. 
I  do  thank  God  on  my  knees  for  this. 

There  are  four  other  boarders  here, — ^three 
Germans  and  one  Swede,  and  the  Swede  and 
two  of  the  Germans  are  women ;  and  five  out- 
side people  come  in  for  the  midday  dinner 
every  day,  all  Germans,  and  four  of  them  are 
men.  They  have  what  they  call  Abonne- 
mentskarten  for  their  dinners,  so  much  a 
month.  Frau  Berg  keeps  an  Open  Midday 
Table — it  is  written  up  on  a  board  on  the 
street  railing — and  charges  1  mark  25  pfen- 


CHRISTINE  11 

nigs  a  dinner  if  a  month's  worth  of  them  is 
taken,  and  1  mark  50  pfennigs  if  they're 
taken  singly.  So  everybody  takes  the  month's 
worth,  and  it  is  going  to  be  rather  fun,  I  think. 
Today  I  was  solenmly  presented  to  the  diners, 
first  collectively  by  Frau  Berg  as  Unser, 
junge  englisclie  Gast,  Mees —  no,  I  can't  ^vrite 
what  she  made  of  Cholmondeley,  but  some  day 
I'll  pronounce  it  for  you;  and  really  it  is  hard 
on  her  that  her  one  EngHsh  guest,  who  might 
so  easily  have  been  Evans,  or  Dobbs,  or  some- 
thing easy,  should  have  a  name  that  looks  a 
yard  long  and  sounds  an  inch  short — and  then 
each  of  them  to  me  singly  by  name.  They  all 
made  the  most  beautiful  stiff  bows.  Some  of 
them  are  students,  I  gathered ;  some,  I  imagine, 
are  staying  here  because  they  have  no  homes, — 
wash-ups  on  the  shores  of  life ;  some  are  clerks 
who  come  in  for  dinner  from  their  offices  near 
by ;  and  one,  the  oldest  of  the  men  and  the  most 
deferred  to,  is  a  lawyer  called  Doctor  some- 
thing. I  suppose  my  being  a  stranger  made 
them  silent,  for  they  were  all  very  silent  and 
stiff,  but  they'll  get  used  to  me  quite  soon  I 
expect,  for  didn't  you  once  rebuke  me  because 
everybo<ly  gets  used  to  me  much  too  soon? 
Being  the  newest  arrival  I  sat  right  at  the  end 
of  the  table  in  the  darkness  near  the  door,  and 


12  CHRISTINE 

looking  along  it  towards  the  light  it  was  realty 
impressive,  the  concentration,  the  earnestness, 
the  thoroughness,  the  skill,  with  which  the  two 
rows  of  guests  dealt  with  things  like  gravy  on 
their  plates, — elusive,  mobile  things  that  are 
not  caught  without  a  struggle.  Why,  if  I  can 
manage  to  apply  myself  to  fiddling  with  half 
that  skill  and  patience  I  shall  be  back  home 
again  in  six  months! 

I'm  so  sleepy,  I  must  leave  off  and  go  to 
bed.  I  did  sleep  this  morning,  but  only  for  an 
hour  or  two;  I  was  too  much  excited,  I  think, 
at  having  really  got  here  to  be  able  to  sleep. 
Now  my  eyes  are  shutting,  but  I  do  hate  leav- 
ing off,  for  I'm  not  going  to  write  again  till 
Sunday,  and  that  is  two  whole  days  further 
ahead,  and  you  know  my  precious  mother  it's 
the  only  time  I  shall  feel  near  you,  when  I'm 
talking  to  you  in  letters.  But  I  simply  can't 
keep  my  eyes  open  any  longer,  so  goodnight 
and  good-bye  my  own  blessed  one,  till  Sun- 
day.    All  my  heart's  love  to  you. 

Your  Chris. 

We  have  supper  at  eight,  and  tonight  it  was 
cold  herrings  and  fried  potatoes  and  tea.  Do 
you  think  after  a  supper  like  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  dream  of  anybody  like  you? 


Sunday,  May  31st,  1914., 
Precious  mother, 

I've  been  dying  to  wi-ite  you  at  least  six 
times  a  day  since  I  posted  my  letter  to  you 
the  day  before  yesterday,  but  rules  are  rules, 
aren't  they,  especially  if  one  makes  them  one- 
self, because  then  the  poor  little  things  are  so 
very  helpless,  and  have  to  be  protected.  I 
couldn't  have  looked  myself  in  the  face  if  I'd 
started  off  by  breaking  my  own  rule,  but  I've 
been  thinking  of  you  and  loving  you  all  the 
time — oh,  so  much ! 

Well,  I'm  very  happy.  I'll  say  that  first, 
so  as  to  relieve  your  darling  mind.  I've  seen 
Kloster,  and  played  to  him,  and  he  was  fear- 
fully kind  and  encouraging.  lie  said  very 
much  what  Ysaye  said  in  London,  and 
Joachim  when  I  was  little  and  played  my  first 
piece  to  him  standing  on  the  dining-room  tabic 
in  I^ccleston  Square  and  staring  fascinated, 
while  I  played,  at  the  hairs  of  his  beard,  because 
I'd  never  been  as  close  as  that  to  a  beard  be- 
fore. So  I've  bcnn  walking  on  clouds  with  my 
chin  well  in  the  air^  as  who  wouldn't?     Kloster 

13 


14  CHRISTINE 

is  a  little  round,  red,  bald  man,  the  baldest  man 
I've  ever  seen;  quite  bald,  with  hardly  any  eye- 
brows, and  clean-shaven  as  well.  He's  the 
funniest  little  thing  till  you  join  him  to  a  vio- 
lin, and  then —  I  A  year  with  him  ought  to  do 
wonders  for  me.  He  says  so  too;  and  when  I 
had  finished  playing — it  was  the  G  minor  Bach 
— you  know, — the  one  with  the  fugue  begin- 
ning: 


t- 


-o — » 


y=t:i^i::tr-f^-A 


hih 


he  solemnly  shook  hands  with  me  and 
said — what  do  you  think  he  said? — "My  Frau- 
lein,  when  you  came  in  I  thought,  'Behold  yet 
one  more  well-washed,  nice-looking,  foolish, 
rich,  nothing-at-all  English  Mees,  who  is  go- 
ing to  waste  my  time  and  her  money  with  les- 
sons.' I  now  perceive  that  I  have  to  do  with 
an  artist.  My  Fraulein  ich  gratuliere"  And 
he  made  me  the  funniest  little  solemn  bow.  I 
thought  I'd  die  of  pride. 

I  don't  know  why  he  thought  me  rich,  see- 
ing how  ancient  all  my  clothes  are,  and  espe- 
cially my  blue  jersey,  which  is  what  I  put  on 
because  I  can  play  so  comfortably  in  it ;  except 
that,  as  I've  already  noticed,  people  here  seem 
persuaded  that  everybody  English  is  rich, — 
anyhow  that  they  have  more  money  than  is 


CHRISTINE  15 

good  for  them.  So  I  told  him  of  our  regretta- 
ble fiDancial  situation,  and  said  if  he  didn't  mind 
looking  at  my  jersey  it  would  convey  to  him 
without  further  words  how  very  necessary  it  is 
that  I  should  make  some  money.  And  I  told 
him  I  had  a  mother  in  just  such  another  jersey, 
only  it  is  a  black  one,  and  therefore  somebody 
had  to  give  her  a  new  one  before  next  win- 
ter, and  there  wasn't  anybody  to  do  it  except 
me. 

He  made  me  another  little  bow — (he  talks 
English,  so  I  could  say  a  lot  of  things) — and 
he  said,  "My  Fraulein,  you  need  be  in  no 
anxiety.  Your  Frau  IMamma  will  have  her 
jersey.  Those  fingers  of  yours  are  full  of  that 
which  turns  instantly  into  gold." 

So  now.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my 
precious  one?  He  says  I've  got  to  turn  to  and 
work  like  a  slave,  practise  with  a  sozusagen 
verteufelte  Unermiidlichkcit ,  as  he  put  it,  and 
if  I  rightly  develop  what  he  calls  my  unusual 
gift, —  (I'm  telling  you  exactly,  and  you  know 
darling  mother  it  isn't  silly  vainness  makes  me 
repeat  these  things, — I'm  past  being  vain;  I'm 
just  bewildered  with  gratitude  that  I  should 
happen  to  be  able  to  fiddle) — at  the  end  of  a 
year,  he  declares,  I  sliall  be  playing  all  over 
Europe  and  earning  enough  to  make  both  you 


16  CHRISTINE 

and  me  never  have  to  think  of  money  again. 
Which  will  be  a  very  blessed  state  to  get  to. 

You  can  picture  the  frame  of  mind  in  which 
I  walked  down  his  stairs  and  along  the  Pots- 
damerstrasse  home.  I  felt  I  could  defy  every- 
body now.  Perhaps  that  remark  will  seem  odd 
to  you,  but  having  given  you  such  glorious 
news  and  told  you  how  happy  I  am,  I'll  not 
conceal  from  you  that  I've  been  feeling  a  little 
forlorn  at  Frau  Berg's.  Lonely.  Left  out. 
Darkly  suspecting  that  thej^  don't  like  me. 

You  see,  Kloster  hadn't  been  able  to  have  me 
go  to  him  till  yesterday,  which  was  Saturday, 
and  not  then  till  the  afternoon,  so  that  I  had 
had  all  Friday  and  most  of  Saturday  to  be  at  a 
loose  end  in,  except  for  practising,  and  though 
I  had  got  here  prepared  to  find  everybody  very 
charming  and  kind  it  was  somehow  gradually 
conveyed  to  me,  though  for  ages  I  thought  it 
must  be  imagination,  that  Frau  Berg  and  the 
other  boarders  and  the  Mittagsgdste  dislike 
me.  Well,  I  would  have  accepted  it  with  a  de- 
pressed resignation  as  the  natural  result  of  be- 
ing unlikeable,  and  have  tried  by  being  pleas- 
anter  and  pleasanter — wouldn't  it  have  been  a 
dreadful  sight  to  see  me  screwing  myself  up 
more  and  more  tighth'^  to  an  awful  pleasant- 
ness— to  induce  them  to  like  me,  but  the  people 


CHRISTINE  17 

in  tlie  streets  don't  seem  to  like  me  either. 
They're  not  friendly.  In  fact  they're  rude. 
And  the  people  in  the  streets  can't  really  per- 
sonally dishke  me,  because  they  don't  know  me, 
so  I  can't  imagine  why  they're  so  horrid. 

Of  course  one's  ideal  when  one  is  in  the 
streets  is  to  be  invisible,  not  to  be  noticed  at  all. 
That's  the  best  thing.  And  the  next  best  is  to 
be  behaved  to  kindly,  with  the  patient  polite- 
ness of  the  London  policemen,  or  indeed  of 
anybody  one  asks  one's  way  of  in  England  or 
Italy  or  France.  The  Berlin  man  as  he  passes 
mutters  the  word  Engldnderin  as  though  it 
were  a  curse,  or  says  into  one's  ear — they  seem 
fond  of  saying  or  rather  hissing  this,  and  seem 
to  think  it  both  crushing  and  funny, — "Ros 
hif,"  and  the  women  stare  at  one  all  over  and 
also  say  to  each  other  Engldnderin. 

You  never  told  me  Germans  were  rude;  or  is 
it  only  in  Berlin  that  they  are,  I  wonder. 
After  my  first  exjjedition  exploring  through 
the  Tliiergarten  and  down  Unter  den  Linden  to 
the  museums  last  Friday  between  my  practis- 
ings,  I  })rcferrcd  getting  lost  to  asking  any- 
body niy  way.  i\nd  as  for  the  policemen,  to 
whom  I  naturally  turned  when  I  wanted  help, 
having  been  used  to  turning  to  policemen  ever 
since  1  can  remember  for  comfort  and  guid- 


18  CHRISTINE 

anoe,  they  simply  never  answered  me  at  all. 
They  just  stood  and  stared  with  a  sort  of  mock- 
ing. And  of  course  they  understood,  for  I  got 
my  question  all  ready  beforehand.  I  longed 
to  hit  them, — I  who  don't  ever  want  to  hit  any- 
body, I  whom  you've  so  often  reprimanded  for 
being  too  friendly.  But  the  meekest  lamb,  a 
lamb  dripping  with  milk  and  honey,  would  turn 
into  a  lion  if  its  polite  approaches  were  met 
with  such  wanton  rudeness.  I  was  so  indig- 
nantly certain  that  these  people,  any  of  them, 
policemen  or  policed,  would  have  answered  the 
same  question  with  the  most  extravagant  po- 
liteness if  I  had  been  an  officer,  or  with  an  offi- 
cer. They  grovel  if  an  officer  comes  along; 
and  a  woman  with  an  officer  might  walk  on 
them  if  she  wanted  to.  They  were  rude  simply 
because  I  was  alone  and  a  woman.  And  that 
being  so,  though  I  spoke  with  the  tongue  of 
angels,  as  St.  Paul  saith,  and  as  I  as  a  matter 
of  fact  did,  if  what  that  means  is  immense  mel- 
lifluousness,  it  would  avail  me  nothing. 

So  when  I  was  out,  and  being  made  so  curi- 
ously to  feel  conspicuous  and  disliked,  the 
knowledge  that  the  only  alternative  was  to  go 
back  to  the  muffled  unfriendliness  at  Frau 
Berg's  did  make  me  feel  a  little  forlorn.  I 
can  tell  you  now,  because  of  the  joy  I've  had 


CHRISTINE  19 

since.  I  don't  mind  any  more.  I*m  raised  up 
and  blessed  now.  Indeed  I  feel  I've  got  much 
more  by  a  long  way  than  my  share  of  good 
things,  and  with  what  Kloster  said  hugged 
secretly  to  my  heart  I'm  placed  outside  the 
ordinary  toiling-moiling  that  hfe  means  for 
most  women  who  have  got  to  wring  a  living 
out  of  it  without  having  anything  special  to 
wring  with.  It's  the  sheerest,  wonderfuUest, 
most  radiant  luck  that  I've  got  this.  AVon't 
I  just  work.  Won't  this  funny  frowning  bed- 
room of  mine  become  a  temple  of  happiness. 
I'm  going  to  plav  Bach  to  it  till  it  tm-ns  beau- 
tiful. 

I  don't  know  wliy  I  always  think  of  Back 
first  when  I  write  about  music.  I  think  of 
him  first  as  naturally  when  I  think  of  music 
as  I  think  of  Wordsworth  first  when  I  think  of 
poetry.  I  know  neither  of  them  is  the  great- 
est, though  Bach  is  the  equal  of  the  greatest, 
but  they  are  tlie  ones  I  love  best.  What  a 
world  it  is,  my  sweetest  little  motlier!  It  is  so 
full  of  beauty.  And  then  there's  the  hard 
work  tliat  makes  everything  taste  so  good. 
You  have  to  have  the  hard  work;  I've  found 
that  out.  I  do  tliink  it's  a  splendid  world, — 
full  of  glory  created  in  the  past  and  lighting 
us  up  while  we  create  still  greater  glory.     One 


20  CHRISTINE 

has  only  got  to  shut  out  the  parts  of  the  pres- 
ent one  doesn't  hke,  to  see  this  all  clear  and  feel 
so  happy.  I  shut  myself  up  in  this  bedroom, 
this  ugly  dingy  bedroom  with  its  silly  heavy 
trappings,  and  get  out  my  viohn,  and  instantly 
it  becomes  a  place  of  light,  a  place  full  of 
sound, — shivering  with  light  and  sound,  the 
light  and  sound  of  the  beautiful  gracious 
things  gi'eat  men  felt  and  thought  long  ago. 
Who  cares  then  about  Frau  Berg's  boarders 
not  speaking  to  one,  and  the  Berlin  streets  and 
policemen  being  unkind?  Actually  I  forget 
the  long  miles  and  hours  I  am  away  from  you, 
the  endless  long  miles  and  hours  that  reach 
from  me  here  to  you  there,  and  am  happy,  oh 
happy, — so  happy  that  I  could  cry  out  for  joy. 
And  so  I  would,  I  daresay,  if  it  wouldn't  spoil 
the  music. 

There's  Wanda  coming  to  tell  me  dinner  is 
ready.  She  just  bumps  the  soup-tureen 
against  my  door  as  she  carries  it  down  the  pas- 
sage to  the  diningroom,  and  calls  out  briefly, 
"Essenr 

I'll  finish  this  tonight. 

Bedtime. 
I  just  want  to  say  goodnight,  and  tell  you, 
in  case  you  shouldn't  have  noticed  it,  how  much 


CHRISTINE  21 

your  daughter  loves  you.  I  mayn't  practise 
on  Sundays,  because  of  the  Hausruhe,  Frau 
Berg  says,  and  so  I  have  time  to  think;  and 
I'm  astonished,  mother  darhng,  at  the  empti- 
ness of  hfe  without  you.  It  is  as  though  most 
of  me  had  somehow  got  torn  off,  and  I  have  to 
manage  as  best  I  can  with  a  fragment.  What 
a  good  thing  I  feel  it  so  much,  for  so  I  shall 
work  all  the  harder  to  shorten  the  time.  Hard 
work  is  tlie  bridge  across  which  I'll  get  back  to 
you.  You  see,  you're  the  one  human  being 
I've  got  in  tlie  world  who  loves  me,  tlie  only  one 
who  is  really,  deeply,  interested  in  me,  who 
minds  if  I  am  hurt  and  is  pleased  if  I  am 
happy.  That's  a  watery  word, — pleased;  I 
should  have  said  exults.  It  is  so  wonderful, 
your  happiness  in  my  being  happy, — so 
touching.  I'm  all  melted  with  love  and  grat- 
itude when  I  tliink  of  it,  and  of  the  dear  way 
you  let  me  do  this,  come  away  here  and  realize 
niy  dream  of  studying  with  Klostcr,  when  you 
knew  it  meant  for  you  such  a  long  row  of 
drearj'-  months  alone.  Forgive  me  if  I  sound 
sentimental.  I  know  you  will,  so  I  needn't 
bother  to  ask.  That's  what  I  so  love  about 
you, — you  always  understand,  you  never  mind. 
I  can  talk  to  \o\\\  and  however  idiotic  I  am, 
and  whatever  sort  of  a  fool, — blind,  unkind. 


22  CHRISTINE 

ridiculous,  obstinate  or  wilful — take  your 
choice,  little  sweet  mother,  you'll  remember 
occasions  that  were  fitted  by  each  of  these — 
you  look  at  me  with  those  shrewd  sweet  eyes 
that  always  somehow  have  a  laugh  in  them, 
and  say  some  little  thing  that  shows  you  are 
brushing  aside  ail  the  ugly  froth  of  nonsense, 
and  are  intelligently  and  with  perfect  detach- 
ment searching  for  the  reason.  And  having 
found  the  reason  you  understand  and  forgive; 
for  of  course  there  always  is  a  reason  when  or- 
dinary people,  not  born  fiends,  are  disagree- 
able. I'm  sure  that's  why  we've  been  so  happy 
together, — because  you've  never  taken  any- 
thing I've  done  or  said  that  was  foolish  or  un- 
kind personally.  You've  always  known  it  was 
,  just  so  much  irrelevant  rubbish,  just  an  excres- 
cence, a  passing  sickness;  never,  never  your 
real  Chris  who  loves  you. 

Good-bye,  my  own  blessed  mother.  It's 
long  past  bedtime.  Tomorrow  I'm  to  have  my 
first  regular  lesson  with  Kloster.  And  tomor- 
row I  ought  to  get  a  letter  from  you.  You 
will  take  care  of  yourself,  won't  you?  You 
wouldn't  like  me  to  be  anxious  all  this  way  off, 
would  you?    Anxious,  and  not  sure? 

Your  Chris. 


Berlin,  Tuesday,  June  2nd,  19H. 
Darling  mother,  I've  just  got  your  two  let- 
ters, two  lovely  long  ones  at  once,  and  I  simply 
can't  wait  till  next  Sunday  to  tell  you  how  I 
rejoiced  over  them,  so  I'm  going  to  squander 
20  pfennigs  just  on  that.  I'm  not  breaking 
my  rule  and  writing  on  a  day  that  isn't  Sun- 
day, because  I'm  not  really  writing.  This  isn't 
a  letter,  it's  a  kiss.  How  glad  I  am  you're  so 
well  and  getting  on  so  comfortably.  And  I'm 
well  and  happy  too,  because  I'm  so  busy, — you 
can't  think  liow  busy.  I'm  working  harder 
than  I've  ever  done  in  my  life,  and  Kloster  is 
pleased  witli  me.  So  now  that  I've  had  letters 
from  you  there  seems  very  little  left  in  the 
world  to  want,  and  I  go  about  on  the  tijis  of 
my  toes.  Good-bye  my  beloved  one,  till  Sun- 
day. 

Chris. 

Oh,  I  must  just  tell  you  that  at  my  lesson 
yesterday  I  played  the  Ernst  FJ  minor  con- 
certo,— the  virtuoso,  firework  thing,  you  know, 

with  Kloster  putting  in  bits  of  the  orchestra 

2;j 


24  CHRISTINE 

part  on  the  piano  every  now  and  then  because 
he  wanted  to  see  what  I  could  do  in  the  way  of 
gymnastics.  He  laughed  when  I  had  finished, 
and  patted  my  shoulder,  and  said,  "Very  good 
acrobatics.  Now  we  will  do  no  more  of  them. 
We  will  apply  ourselves  to  real  music."  And 
he  said  I  was  to  play  him  what  I  could  of  the 
Bach  Chaconne. 

I  was  so  happy,  little  mother.  Kloster 
leading  me  about  among  the  wonders  of  Bach, 
was  like  being  taken  by  the  hand  by  some 
great  angel  and  led  through  heaven. 


Berlin,  Sunday,  June  7th,  1914- 
On  Sunday  mornings,  darling  mother,  di- 
rectly I  wake  I  remember  it  is  my  day  for  being 
with  you.  I  can  hardly  be  patient  with  break- 
fast, and  the  time  it  takes  to  get  done  with 
those  thick  cups  of  coffee  that  are  so  thick  that, 
however  deftly  I  drink,  drops  always  trickle 
down  what  would  be  my  beard  if  I  had  one. 
And  I  choke  over  the  rolls,  and  I  spill  things 
in  my  hurry  to  run  away  and  talk  to  you.  I 
got  another  letter  from  you  yesterdajs  and 
Hilda  Seeberg,  a  girl  boarding  here  and  study- 
ing painting,  said  when  she  met  me  in  the  pas- 
sage after  I  had  been  reading  it  in  my  room, 
"You  have  had  a  letter  from  your  Fran  Mut- 
ter, nicht?"  So  you  see  your  letters  shine  in 
my  face. 

Don't  be  afraid  I  won't  take  enough  exer- 
cise. I  go  for  an  iumieusc  walk  directly  after 
dinner  every  day,  a  real  (]uick  hot  one  througli 
the  Thiergarten.  Tlic  wcatlicr  is  fine,  and 
Berlin  I  sui)posc  is  at  its  best,  but  T  don't  think 
it  looks  very  nice  after  London.  There's  no 
mystery  about  it,  no  atmosphere;  it  just  blares 

25 


2G  CHRISTINE 

away  at  you.  It  has  everything  in  it  that  a 
city  ought  to  have, — pubhc  buildings,  statues, 
fountains,  parks,  broad  streets ;  and  it  is  about 
as  comforting  and  lovable  as  the  latest  thing  in 
workhouses.  It  looks  disinfected;  it  has  just 
that  kind  of  rather  awful  cleanness. 

At  dimmer  they  talk  of  its  beauty  and  its  per- 
fections till  I  nearly  go  to  sleep.  You  know 
how  oddly  sleepy  one  gets  when  one  isn't  inter- 
ested. They've  left  off  being  silent  now,  and 
have  gone  to  the  other  extreme,  and  from  not 
talking  to  me  at  all  have  jumped  to  talking  to 
me  all  together.  They  tell  me  over  and  over 
again  that  I'm  in  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the 
world.  You  never  knew  such  eagerness  and 
persistence  as  these  German  boarders  have 
when  it  comes  to  praising  what  is  theirs,  and 
also  when  it  comes  to  criticizing  what  isn't 
theirs.  They're  so  funny  and  personal.  They 
say,  for  instance,  London  is  too  hideous  for 
words,  and  then  they  look  at  me  defiantly,  as 
though  they  had  been  insulting  some  personal 
defect  of  mine  and  meant  to  brazen  it  out. 
They  point  out  the  horrors  of  the  slums  to  me 
as  though  the  slums  were  en  my  face.  They 
tell  me  pityingly  what  they  look  like,  what  ter- 
rible blots  and  deformities  they  are,  and  how  I 
— they  say  England,  but  no  one  could  dream 


CHRISTINE  27 

from  their  manner  that  it  wasn't  me — can 
never  hope  to  be  regarded  as  fit  for  self- 
respecting  Em'opean  society  while  these  spots 
and  sore  places  are  not  purged  away. 

The  other  day  they  assured  me  that  England 
as  a  nation  is  really  unfit  for  any  decent  other 
nation  to  know  politically,  but  they  added,  with 
stiff  bows  in  my  direction,  that  sometimes  the 
individual  inhabitant  of  that  low-minded  and 
materialistic  country  is  not  without  amiability, 
especially  if  he  or  she  is  by  some  miracle  with- 
out the  lofty,  high-nosed  manner  that  as  a  rule 
so  regrettably  characterizes  the  unfortunate 
people.  ^'Sie  siiid  so  hodindsig ,"  the  bank 
clerk  who  sits  opposite  me  had  shouted  out, 
pointing  an  accusing  finger  at  me;  and  for  a 
moment  I  was  so  startled  that  I  thought  some- 
thing disastrous  had  happened  to  my  nose,  and 
my  anxious  hand  flew  up  to  it.  Then  they 
laughed;  and  it  was  after  that  that  they  made 
the  speech  conceding  individual  amiability  here 
and  there. 

I  sit  neatly  in  my  chair  while  this  sort  of 
talk  goes  on — and  it  g(x,\s  on  at  every  meal  now 
that  they  have  got  over  the  preliminary  stage 
of  icy  coldness  towards  me — and  I  try  to  !)e 
sprightly,  and  bandy  my  six  (Jerman  words 
about  whenever  they  seem  appropriate.     Im- 


28  CHRISTINE 

agine  your  poor  Chris  trying  to  be  sprightly 
with  eleven  Germans — no,  ten  Germans,  for 
tlie  eleventh  is  a  Swede  and  doesn't  say  any- 
thing. And  the  ten  Germans,  including  Frau 
Berg,  all  fix  their  eyes  reproachfully  on  me 
while  as  one  man  they  tell  me  how  awful  my 
country  is.  Do  people  in  London  boarding 
houses  tell  the  German  boarders  how  awful 
Germany  is,  I  wonder?  I  don't  believe  thej'^ 
do.  And  I  wish  they  would  leave  me  alone 
about  the  Boer  war.  I've  tried  to  explain  my 
extreme  youth  at  the  time  it  was  going  on,  but 
they  still  appear  to  hold  me  directly  responsible 
for  it.  The  fingers  that  have  been  pointed  at 
me  down  that  table  on  account  of  the  Boer  war ! 
They  raise  them  at  me,  and  shake  them,  and 
tell  me  of  the  terrible  things  the  English  did, 
and  when  I  ask  them  how  they  know,  they  say 
it  was  in  the  newspapers ;  and  when  I  ask  them 
what  newspapers,  they  say  theirs ;  and  when  I 
ask  them  how  they  know  it  was  true,  they  say 
they  know  because  it  was  in  the  newspapers. 
So  there  we  are,  stuck.  I  take  to  English 
when  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  and  they 
flounder  in  after  me. 

It  is  the  funniest  thing,  their  hostility  to 
England,  and  the  queer,  reluctant,  and  yet 
passionate  admiration  that  goes  with  it.     It  is 


CHRISTINE  29 

like  some  girl  who  can't  get  a  man  she  admires 
very  much  to  notice  her.  He  stays  indifferent, 
while  she  gets  more  exasperated  the  more  indif- 
ferent he  stays ;  exasperated  with  the  bitterness 
of  thwarted  love.  One  day  at  dinner,  when 
they  had  all  been  thumping  away  at  me,  this 
flashed  across  me  as  the  explanation,  and  I  ex- 
claimed in  Enghsh,  "Why,  you're  in  love  with 


us 


Twenty  round  ej^es  stared  at  me,  sombrely 
at  first,  not  understanding,  and  then  with  hor- 
ror slowly  growing  in  them. 

"In  love  with  you?  In  love  with  England?" 
cried  Frau  Berg,  the  carving  knife  suspended 
in  the  air  while  she  stared  at  me.  "Nein,  aber 
so  was!''  And  she  let  down  her  heavy  fists, 
knife  and  all,  with  a  thud  on  the  table. 

I  thought  I  had  best  stand  up  to  them,  hav- 
ing started  off  so  recklessly,  and  tried  to  lash 
myself  into  braverj'^  by  remembering  how  full 
I  was  of  the  blond  of  all  the  Cholm()ndeleJ^s, 
let  alone  those  relations  of  yours  alleged  to 
have  fought  alongside  the  Black  Prince;  so 
though  I  wished  there  were  several  of  me  rather 
than  only  one,  I  said  with  courage  and  ob- 
stinacy, "Passionately." 

You  can't  think  how  seriously  they  took  it. 
They  all  talked  at  once,  very  loud.     They  were 


80  CHRISTINE 

all  extremely  angry.  I  wished  I  had  kept 
quiet,  for  I  couldn't  elaborate  my  idea  in  my 
limping  German,  and  it  was  quite  difficult  to 
go  on  smiling  and  behaving  as  though  they 
were  all  not  being  rude,  for  I  don't  think  they 
mean  to  be  rude,  and  I  was  afraid,  if  I  showed 
a  trace  of  thinking  they  were  that  they  might 
notice  they  were,  and  then  they  would  have  felt 
so  uncomfortable,  and  the  situation  would  have 
become,  as  they  say,  jieinlich. 

Four  of  the  Daily  Dinner  Guests  are  men, 
and  one  of  the  boarders  is  a  man ;  and  these  five 
men  and  Frau  Berg  were  the  vociferous  ones. 
They  exclaimed  things  like  "Nein,  so  was!" 
and,  "Diese  englische  Hochmut!"  and  single 
words  like  unerhort;  and  then  one  of  them, 
called  Herr  Doctor  Knmimlaut,  who  is  a  law- 
yer and  a  widower  and  much  esteemed  by  the 
rest,  detached  himself  from  them  and  made  me 
a  carefully  patient  speech,  in  which  he  said  how 
sorry  they  all  were  to  see  so  young  and  gifted  a 
lady, —  (he  bowed,  and  I  bowed) — oh  yes,  he 
said,  raising  his  hand  as  though  to  ward  off 
any  modest  objections  I  might  be  going  to 
make,  only  I  wasn't  going  to  make  any,  he 
had  heard  that  I  was  undoubtedly  gifted,  and 
not  only  gifted  but  also,  he  would  not  be  de- 
terred from  saying,  and  he  felt  sure  his  col- 


CHRISTINE  31 

leagues  at  the  table  would  not  be  deterred  from 
saj^'ing  either  if  they  were  in  his  place,  a  lady 
of  personal  attractions, —  (he  bowed  and  I 
bowed,) — how  sorry  they  all  were  to  see  a 
young  Fraulein  with  these  advantages,  filled  at 
the  same  time  with  opinions  and  views  that 
were  not  onl}^  highly  unsuitable  to  her  sex  but 
were  also,  in  any  sex,  so  terribly  wrong. 
Every  lady,  he  said,  should  have  some  knowl- 
edge of  history,  and  sufficient  acquaintance 
with  the  three  kinds  of  politics, — Politik,  Welt- 
politik,  and  KealpoUtik,  to  enable  her  to 
avoid  wrong  and  frivolous  conclusions  such  as 
the  one  the  young  Fraulein  had  just  informed 
them  she  had  reached,  and  to  listen  intelligently 
to  her  husband  or  son  when  they  discuss 
these  matters.  He  said  a  gi'eat  deal  more, 
about  a  woman  knowing  these  things  just 
enough  ])ut  not  too  well,  for  her  intelligence 
must  not  be  strained  because  of  her  supreme 
function  of  l>eing  the  cradle  of  the  race;  and 
the  cradle  part  of  her,  I  gather,  isn't  so  useful 
if  she  is  allowed  to  develop  the  other  part  of 
her  beyond  what  is  necessary  for  making  an 
agreeable  listener. 

It  was  no  use  even  trying  to  explain  what  1 
had  meant  alwut  Germany  really  being  in  love 
with   England,   because   I   hadn't  got   words 


32  CHRISTINE 

enough;  but  that  is  exactly  the  impression  I've 
received  from  my  brief  experiences  of  one  cor- 
ner of  its  hfe.  In  this  small  comer  of  it,  any- 
how, it  behaves  exactly  like  a  woman  who  is  so 
unlucky  as  to  love  somebody  who  doesn't  care 
about  her.  She  naturally,  I  imagine, — for  I 
can  only  guess  at  these  enslavements, — is  very 
much  humiliated  and  angry,  and  all  the  more 
because  the  loved  and  hated  one — isn't  it  pos- 
sible to  love  and  hate  at  the  same  time,  little 
mother?  I  can  imagine  it  quite  well — is  so  in- 
different as  to  whether  she  loves  or  hates. 
And  whichever  she  does,  he  is  polite, — "Al- 
ways gentleman,"  as  the  Germans  say.  Which 
is,  naturally,  maddening. 

Evening. 

Do  you  know  I  wrote  to  you  the  whole  morn- 
ing? I  wrote  and  wrote,  with  no  idea  how 
time  was  passing,  and  was  astonished  and  in- 
dignant, for  I  haven't  half  told  you  all  I  want 
to,  when  I  was  called  to  dinner.  It  seemed 
like  shutting  a  door  on  you  and  leaving  you 
outside  without  any  dinner,  to  go  away  and 
have  it  without  you. 

If  it  weren't  for  its  being  my  day  with  you 
I  don't  know  what  I'd  do  with  Sundays.  I 
would  hate  them.     I'm  not  allowed  to  play  on 


CHRISTINE  33 

Sundays,  because  practising  is  forbidden  on 
that  day,  and,  as  Frau  Berg  said,  how  is  she  to 
know  if  I  am  practising  or  playing?  Besides, 
it  would  disturb  the  others,  which  of  course  is 
true,  for  they  all  rest  on  Sundays,  getting  up 
late,  sleeping  after  dinner,  and  not  going  out 
till  they  have  had  coffee  about  five.  Today, 
when  I  hoped  they  had  all  gone  out,  I  had  such 
a  longing  to  play  a  little  that  I  muted  my 
strings  and  played  to  myself  in  a  whisper  what 
I  could  remember  of  a  very  beautiful  thing  of 
Ravel's  that  Kloster  showed  me  the  other  day, 
— the  most  haunting,  exquisite  thing;  and  I 
hummed  the  weird  harmonies  as  I  went  along, 
because  they  are  what  is  so  particularly  won- 
derful about  it.  Well,  it  really  was  a  whisper, 
and  I  had  to  bend  my  head  right  over  the  violin 
to  hear  it  at  all  whenever  a  tram  passed,  yet  in 
five  minutes  Frau  Berg  a])pearcd,  unbuttoned 
and  heated  from  her  Mitlacjsruhe,  and  re- 
quested me  to  have  some  consideration  for 
others  as  well  as  for  the  day. 

I  was  very  much  ashamed  of  myself,  besides 
feeling  as  though  I  wei-e  fifteen  and  caught  at 
school  doing  something  wicked.  I  didn't  mind 
not  having  consideration  for  the  day,  because  I 
think  Ravel  being  j)laye(l  on  it  can't  do  Sunday 
anything  but  good,  but  I  did  mind  having  dis- 


34  CHRISTINE 

turbed  the  other  people  in  the  flat.  I  could 
only  say  I  was  sorry,  and  wouldn't  do  it  again, 
— just  like  an  apologetic  schoolgirl.  But 
what  do  you  think  I  wanted  to  do,  little 
mother?  Run  to  Frau  Berg,  and  put  my  arms 
round  her  neck,  and  tell  her  I  was  lonely  and 
wanting  you,  and  would  she  mind  just  j)retend- 
ing  she  was  fond  of  me  for  a  moment?  She 
did  look  so  comfortable  and  fat  and  kind, 
standing  there  filling  up  the  doorway,  and  she 
wasn't  near  enough  for  me  to  see  her  eyes,  and 
it  is  her  eyes  that  make  one  not  want  to  run  to 
her. 

But  of  course  I  didn't  run.  I  knew  too  well 
that  she  wouldn't  understand.  And  indeed  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  have  felt  such  a  long- 
ing to  run  into  somebody's  arms.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  writing  to  you  brings  you  so  near 
to  me  that  I  realize  how  far  away  you  are. 
During  the  week  I  work,  and  while  I  work  I 
forget;  and  there's  the  excitement  of  my  less- 
ons, and  the  joy  of  hearing  Kloster  appreciate 
and  encourage.  But  on  Sundays  the  day  is 
all  you,  and  then  I  feel  what  months  can  mean 
when  they  have  to  be  lived  through  each  in  turn 
and  day  by  day  before  one  gets  back  to  the 
person  one  loves.    Why  are  you  so  dear,  my 


CHRISTINE  35 

darling  mother?  If  you  were  an  ordinary- 
mother  I'd  be  so  much  more  placid.  I 
wouldn't  mind  not  being  with  an  ordinary 
mother.  When  I  look  at  other  people's  moth- 
ers I  think  I'd  rather  like  not  being  with  them. 
But  having  known  what  it  is  to  live  in  love  and 
understanding  with  you,  it  wants  a  great  deal 
oi'  persistent  courage,  the  sort  that  goes  on 
steadily  with  no  intervals,  to  make  one  able  to 
do  without  it. 

Now  please  don't  think  I  am  fretting,  will 
you,  because  I'm  not.  It's  only  that  I  love 
you.  We're  such  friends.  You  always  un- 
derstand, you  are  never  shocked.  I  can  say 
whatever  comes  into  my  head  to  you.  It  is  as 
good  as  saying  one's  prayers.  One  never  stops 
in  tliose  to  wonder  whether  one  is  shocking 
God,  and  that  is  what  one  loves  God  for, — be- 
cause we  suppose  he  always  understands,  and 
therefore  forgives;  and  how  nmch  more — is 
this  very  wicked? — one  loves  one's  mother  who 
understands,  because,  you  sec,  there  she  is,  and 
one  can  kiss  her  as  well.  There's  a  great  vir- 
tue in  kissing,  1  think;  an  amazing  comfort  in 
just  touchinf/  the  person  one  loves,  (iowl- 
night,  most  blessed  little  mother,  and  good-bye 
for  a  week.  Your  Chris. 


36  CHRISTINE 

Perhaps  I  might  write  a  httle  note — not  a 
letter,  just  a  httle  note, — on  Wednesdays? 
What  do  you  think?  It  would  be  nothing 
more,  really,  than  a  postcard,  except  that  it 
would  be  in  an  envelope. 


Berlin,  Sunday,  June  14th,  1914* 
Well,  I  didn't  write  on  Wednesday,  I  re- 
sisted, ((jood  morning,  darling  mother.)  I 
knew  quite  well  it  wouldn't  be  a  postcard,  or 
anything  even  remotely  related  to  the  post- 
card family.  It  would  be  a  letter.  A  long 
letter.  And  presently  I'd  be  writing  every 
day,  and  staying  all  soft;  living  in  the  past, 
instead  of  getting  on  with  my  business,  which 
is  the  future.  That  is  what  I've  got  to  do  at 
this  moment:  not  think  too  much  of  you  and 
home,  but  turn  my  face  away  from  both  those 
sweet,  desirable  things  so  that  I  may  get  back 
to  them  quicker.  It's  true  we  havent  got  a 
home,  if  a  home  is  a  house  and  furniture;  but 
home  to  your  Chris  is  where  you  are.  Just 
simply  anywhere  and  everywhere  you  are. 
It's  very  convenient,  isn't  it,  to  have  it  so  much 
concentrated  and  so  movable.  Portable,  I 
might  say,  seeing  how  little  you  are  and  how 
big  I  am. 

But  you  know,  darling  mother,  it  makes  it 
easier  for  me  to  harden  and  look  ahead  with 
my  chin  in  the  air  rallicr  than  over  my  shoul- 

37 


38  CHRISTINE 

der  back  at  you  when  I  see,  as  I  do  see  all  day 
long,  the  extreme  sentimentality  of  the  Ger- 
mans. It  is  very  sm-prising.  They're  the  odd- 
est mixture  of  what  really  is  a  brutal  hardness, 
the  kind  of  hardness  that  springs  from  real 
fundamental  differences  from  ours  in  their  atti- 
tude towards  hfe,  and  a  squashiness  that  leaves 
one  with  one's  mouth  open.  They  can't  bear 
to  let  a  single  thing  that  has  happened  to  them 
ever,  however  many  years  ago,  drop  away  into 
oblivion  and  die  decently  in  its  own  dust. 
They  hold  on  to  it,  and  dig  it  out  that  day  year 
and  that  day  every  year,  for  years  apparently, 
— I  expect  for  all  their  lives.  When  they 
leave  off  really  feeling  about  it — which  of 
course  they  do,  for  how  can  one  go  on  feeling 
about  a  thing  forever? — they  start  pretending 
that  they  feel.  Conceive  going  through  life 
clogged  hke  that,  all  one's  pores  choked  with 
the  dust  of  old  yesterdays.  I  picture  the  Ger- 
mans trailing  through  life  more  and  more  heav- 
ily as  they  grow  old,  hauling  an  increasing 
number  of  anniversaries  along  with  them, 
rolling  them  up  as  they  go,  dragging  at  each 
remove  a  lengthening  chain,  as  your  dear  Gold- 
smith says, — and  if  he  didn't,  or  it  wasn't,  you'll 
rebuke  me  and  tell  me  who  did  and  what  it 
was,  for  you  know  I've  no  books  here,  except 


CHRISTINE  39 

those  two  that  are  married  as  securely  on  one's 
tongue  as  Tennyson  and  Browning,  or  Arnold 
Bennet  and  his,  I  imagine  reluctant,  bride, 
H.  G.  Wells, — I  mean  Shakespeare  and  the 
Bible. 

I  went  into  Hilda  Seeberg's  room  the  other 
day  to  ask  her  for  some  pins,  and  found  her 
sitting  in  front  of  a  photograph  of  her  father, 
a  cross-looking  old  man  with  a  twirly  mous- 
tache and  a  bald  head;  and  she  had  put  a 
wreath  of  white  roses  round  the  frame  and  tied 
it  with  a  black  bow,  and  there  were  two  candles 
lit  in  front  of  it,  and  Hilda  had  put  on  a  black 
dress,  and  was  just  sitting  there  gazing  at  it 
with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  I  begged  her  par- 
don, and  was  going  away  again  quickly,  but 
she  called  me  back. 

"I  celebrate,"  she  said. 

*'Oh,"  said  I  politely,  but  witliout  an  idea 
what  she  meant. 

"It  is  my  Papa's  birthday  today,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  photograph. 

"Is  it?"  I  said,  surprised,  for  I  thought  I 
remembered  she  had  told  me  he  was  dead. 
"But  didn't  you  say — " 

"Yes.  Certainly  I  told  you  Papa  was  dead 
since  five  years.'* 


40  CHRISTINE 

"Then  why—?" 

"But  liebes  Frciulein,  he  still  continues  to 
have  birthdays,"  she  said,  staring  at  me  in  real 
surprise,  while  I  stared  back  at  her  in  at  least 
equally  real  surprise. 

"Every  year,"  she  said,  "the  day  comes 
round  on  which  Papa  was  born.  Shall  he, 
then,  merely  because  he  is  with  God,  not  have 
it  celebrated?  And  what  would  people  think 
if  I  did  not?  They  would  think  I  had  no 
heart." 

After  that  I  began  to  hope  there  would  be 
a  cake,  for  they  have  lovely  birthday  cakes 
here,  and  it  is  the  custom  to  give  a  slice  of  them 
to  every  one  who  comes  near  you.  So  I  looked 
round  the  room  out  of  the  corners  of  my  eyes, 
discreetly,  lest  I  should  seem  to  be  as  greedy 
as  I  was,  and  I  lifted  my  nose  a  little  and  waved 
it  cautiously  about,  but  I  neither  saw  nor  smelt 
a  cake.  Frau  Berg  had  a  birthday  three  days 
ago,  and  there  was  a  heavenly  cake  at  it,  a 
great  flat  thing  with  cream  in  it,  that  one  loved 
so  that  first  one  wanted  to  eat  it  and  then  to  sit 
on  it  and  see  all  the  cream  squash  out  at  the 
sides;  but  evidently  the  cake  is  the  one  thing 
you  don't  have  for  your  birthday  after  you  are 
dead.  I  don't  want  to  laugh,  darling  mother, 
and  I  know  well  enough  what  it  is  to  lose  one's 


CHRISTINE  41 

beloved  Dad,  but  you  see  Hilda  had  shown  me 
her  family  photographs  only  the  other  day,  for 
we  are  making  friends  in  a  sort  of  flabby,  hesi- 
tating way,  and  when  she  got  to  the  one  of  her 
father  she  said  with  perfect  frankness  that  she 
hadn't  liked  him,  and  that  it  had  been  an  im- 
mense relief  when  he  died.  "He  prevented 
my  doing  anything,"  she  said,  frowning  at  the 
photograph,  "except  that  which  increased  his 
comforts." 

I  asked  Kloster  about  anniversaries  when  I 
went  for  my  lesson  on  Friday.  He  is  a  Tery 
human  little  man,  full  of  sympathy, — the  sort 
of  comprehending  sympathy  that  laughs  and 
understands  together,  yet  his  genius  seems  to 
detach  him  from  other  Germans,  for  he  criti- 
cizes them  with  a  dispassionate  thoroughness 
that  is  surprising.  The  remarks  he  makes 
about  the  Kaiser,  for  instance,  whom  he  irrev- 
erently aihides  to  as  S.  M. —  (sliort  and  rude 
for  Seine  Majcstdt) — simply  make  me  shiver 
in  this  country  of  Idse  viajcstc.  In  England, 
where  we  can  say  what  wc  like,  I  liavc  never 
heard  anybody  say  anytliing  disrespectful 
about  the  King.  Here,  where  you  go  to 
prison  if  you  laugh  even  at  ofhcials,  even  at  a 
policeman,  at  anything  wliatevcr  in  buttons, 
for  that  is  the  puni.shal)Ie  olFcncc  of  Beamtcv- 


42  CHRISTINE 

heleidigung — haven't  they  got  heavenly  words 
— Kloster  and  people  I  have  come  across  in  his 
rooms  say  what  they  like ;  and  what  they  like  is 
very  rude  indeed  about  that  sacred  man  the 
Kaiser,  who  doesn't  appear  to  be  at  all  popu- 
lar. But  then  Kloster  belongs  to  the  intelli- 
gents,  and  his  friends  are  all  people  of  intelli- 
gence, and  that  sort  of  person  doesn't  care  very 
much,  I  think,  for  absolute  monarchs.  Kloster 
says  they're  anachronisms,  that  the  world  is  too 
old  for  them,  too  grown-up  for  pretences  and 
decorations.  And  when  I  went  for  my  lesson 
on  Friday  I  found  his  front  door  wreathed  with 
evergreens  and  paper  flowers, — pretences  and 
decorations  crawling  even  round  Kloster — and 
I  went  in  very  reluctantly,  not  knowing  what 
sort  of  a  memorial  celebration  I  was  going  to 
tumble  into.  But  it  was  only  that  his  wife — I 
didn't  know  he  had  a  wife,  he  seemed  alto- 
gether so  happily  unmarried — was  coming 
home.  She  had  been  away  for  three  weeks; 
not  nearly  long  enough,  you  and  I  and  others 
of  our  self-depreciatory  and  self -critical  coun- 
try would  think,  to  deserve  an  evergreen  gar- 
land round  our  door  on  coming  back.  He 
laughed  when  I  told  him  I  had  been  afraid  to 
come  in  lest  I  should  disturb  retrospective 
obsequies. 


CHRISTINE  43 

"We  are  still  so  near,  mj'  dear  Mees  Chrees," 
he  said,  shrugging  a  fat  shoulder — he  asked  nie 
what  I  was  called  at  home,  and  I  said  you 
called  me  Chris,  and  he  said  he  would,  with  my 
permission,  also  call  me  Chrees,  but  with  Mees 
in  front  of  it  to  show  that  though  he  desired  to 
be  friendly  he  also  wished  to  remain  respectful 
— "we  are  still  so  near  as  a  nation  to  the  child 
and  to  the  savage.  To  the  clever  child,  and  the 
powerful  savage.  We  like  simple  and  gross 
emotions  and  plenty  of  them;  obvious  tastes  in 
our  food  and  our  pleasures,  and  a  great  deal  of 
it;  fat  in  our  food,  and  fat  in  our  women. 
And,  like  the  child,  when  we  mourn  we  mourn 
to  excess,'  and  enjoy  ourselves  in  that  excess; 
and,  like  the  savage,  we  are  afraid,  and  there- 
fore hedge  ourselves  about  with  observances, 
celebrations,  cannon,  kings.  In  no  other  coun- 
try rs  there  more  than  one  king.  In  ours  vre 
find  three  and  an  emperor  necessary.  The  sav- 
age who  fears  all  things  does  not  fear  more  than 
M'e  (Germans.  W'e  fear  other  nations,  we  fear 
otlicr  peo[)le,  we  fear  ])u]jlic  opinion  to  an  ex- 
tent incredible,  and  trenil)le  before  the  opinion 
of  our  servants  and  tradesj)eople ;  we  fear  our 
own  manners  and  tlioreforo  arc  ol)ligc(l  to  pre- 
serve the  idiotic  j)ra(.tice  of  ducHing,  in  which 
as  often  as  not  the  man  whose  honour  is  l)cing 


4.4  CHRISTINE 

satisfied  is  the  one  wlio  is  killed;  we  fear  all 
those  above  us,  of  whom  there  are  invariably  a 
great  many;  we  fear  all  officials,  and  our  coun- 
try drips  with  officials.  ,The  only  person  we 
do  not  fear  is  God." 

"But — "  I  began,  remembering  their  motto, 
bestowed  on  them  b)^  Bismarck. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  he  interrupted.  "It  is 
not,  however,  true.  The  contrary  is  the  truth. 
We  Germans  fear  not  God,  but  everything  else 
in  the  world.  It  is  onty  fear  that  makes  us 
polite,  fear  of  the  duel;  for,  like  the  child  and 
the  savage,  we  have  not  had  time  to  acquire  the 
habit  of  good  manners,  the  habit  which  makes 
manners  inevitable  and  invariable,  and  it  is  not 
natural  to  us  to  be  polite.  We  are  polite  only 
by  the  force  of  fear.  Consequently — for  all 
men  must  have  their  relaxations — whenever  we 
meet  the  weak,  the  beneath  us,  the  momentarily 
helpless,  we  are  brutal.  It  is  an  immense  re- 
lief to  be  for  a  moment  natural.  Every  Ger- 
man welcomes  even  the  smallest  opportunity." 

You  would  be  greatly  interested  in  Kloster, 
I'm  certain.  He  sits  there,  his  fiddle  on  his  fat 
little  knees,  his  bow  punctuating  his  sentences 


CHRISTINE  45 

with  quivers  and  raps,  his  shiny  bald  head  re- 
flecting the  hght  from  the  window  behind  him, 
and  his  eyes  coming  very  much  out  of  his  face, 
which  is  excessively  red.  He  looks  like  an 
amiable  prawn;  not  in  the  least  like  a  person 
with  an  active  and  destructive  mind,  not  in  the 
least  like  a  great  musician.  He  has  the  very 
opposite  of  the  bushy  eyebrows  and  overhang- 
ing forehead  and  deep  set  eyes  and  lots  of  hair 
you're  supposed  to  have  if  you've  got  much 
music  in  you.  He  came  over  to  me  the  other 
day  after  I  had  finished  playing,  and  stretched 
up — he's  a  good  bit  smaller  than  I  am — and 
carefully  drew  his  finger  along  my  eyebrows, 
each  in  turn.  I  couldn't  think  what  he  was 
doing. 

"Aly  finger  is  clean,  Mees  Chrees,"  he  said, 
seeing  me  draw  back.  "I  have  just  wiped  it. 
Be  not,  therefore,  afraid.  But  you  have  the 
real  Beethoven  brow — the  veiy  shape — and  I 
must  tnucl)  it.  I  regret  if  it  inconmiodes  you, 
but  I  must  touch  it.  I  have  seen  no  such  re- 
semblance to  the  brow  of  the  Master.  You 
might  be  bis  child." 

I  needn't  tell  you,  darling  mother,  that  I 
went  back  to  the  boarders  and  the  midday 
guests  not  minding  them  much.  If  I  only 
could   talk    (jcrman    f)ropcrly   1    would   have 


46  CHRISTINE 

loved  to  have  leant  across  the  table  to  Herr 
Mannfried,  an  unwholesome  looking  young 
man  who  comes  in  to  dinner  every  day  from  a 
bank  in  the  Potsdamerstrasse,  and  is  very  full 
of  that  hatred  which  is  really  passion  for  Eng- 
land, and  has  pale  hair  and  a  mouth  exactly 
like  two  scarlet  slugs — I'm  sorry  to  be  so  hor- 
rid, but  it  is  like  two  scarlet  slugs — and  said, — 
"Have  you  noticed  that  I  have  a  Beethoven- 
Iwpf?  ,What  do  you  think  of  me,  an  Eng- 
Idnderin,  having  such  a  thing?  One  of  your 
own  great  men  says  so,  so  it  must  be  true." 

We  are  studying  the  Bach  Chaconne  now. 
He  is  showing  me  a  different  reading  of  it,  his 
idea.  He  is  going  to  play  it  at  the  Philarmonie 
here  next  week.  I  wish  you  could  hear  him. 
He  was  intending  to  go  to  London  this  season 
and  play  with  a  special  orchestra  of  picked 
players,  but  has  changed  his  mind.  I  asked 
him  why,  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulder  and  said 
his  agent,  who  arranges  these  things,  seemed  to 
think  he  had  better  not.  I  asked  him  why 
again — you  know  my  persistency — for  I  can't 
conceive  why  it  should  be  better  not  for  Lon- 
don to  have  such  a  joy  and  for  him  to  give  it, 
but  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulder  again,  and 
said  he  always  did  what  his  agent  told  him 
to  do.     "My  agent  knows  his  business,  my  dear 


CHRISTINE  47 

Mees  Chrees,"  he  said.  "I  put  my  affairs  in 
his  hands,  and  having  done  so  I  obey  him.  It 
saves  trouble.  Obedience  is  a  comfortable 
thing." 

"Then  why — '*  I  began,  remembering  the 
things  he  says  about  kings  and  masters  and 
persons  in  authority ;  but  he  picked  up  his  vio- 
lin and  began  to  play  a  bit.  "See,"  he  said, 
"this  is  how—" 

And  when  he  plays  I  can  only  stand  and  lis- 
ten. It  is  like  a  spell.  One  stands  there,  and 
forgets.  .  .  . 

Evening. 
I've  been  reading  your  last  darling  letter 
again,  so  full  of  love,  so  full  of  thought  for  me, 
out  in  a  corner  of  the  Thiergarten  this  after- 
noon, and  I  see  that  while  I'm  eagerly  writing 
and  writing  to  you,  page  after  page  of  the 
things  I  want  to  tell  you,  I  forget  to  tell  you 
the  things  you  want  to  know.  I  believe  I 
never  answer  any  of  your  questions!  It's  be- 
cause I'm  so  all  right,  so  comfortable  as  far  as 
my  body  goes,  that  I  don't  remember  to  say  so. 
T  have  bcai)s  to  eat,  and  it  is  very  satisfying 
food,  being  German,  and  will  make  me  grow 
sideways  <iuite  soon,  I  should  think,  for  Fran 
Berg  fills  us  up  daily  with  dumplings,  and  I'm 


48  CHRISTINE 

certain  they  must  end  by  somehow  showing; 
and  I  haven't  had  a  single  cold  since  I've  been 
here,  so  I'm  outgrowing  them  at  last;  and  I'm 
not  sitting  up  late  reading, — I  couldn't  if  I 
tried,  for  Wanda,  the  general  servant,  who  is 
general  also  in  her  person  rather  than  particu- 
lar— aren't  I  being  funny — comes  at  ten 
o'clock  each  night  on  her  way  to  bed  and  takes 
away  my  lamp. 

"Rules,"  said  Frau  Berg  briefly,  when  I 
asked  if  it  wasn't  a  little  early  to  leave  me  in 
the  dark.  "And  you  are  not  left  in  the  dark. 
Have  I  not  provided  a  candle  and  matches  for 
the  chance  infirmities  of  the  night?" 

But  the  candle  is  cheap  and  dim,  so  I  don't 
sit  up  trying  to  read  by  that.  I  preserve  it 
wholly  for  the  infirmities. 

I've  been  in  the  Thiergarten  most  of  the 
afternoon,  sitting  in  a  green  corner  I  found 
where  there  is  some  grass  and  daisies  down  by  a 
pond  and  away  from  a  path,  and  accordingly 
away  from  the  Sunday  crowds.  I  watched  the 
birds,  and  read  the  Winter's  Tale,  and  picked 
some  daisies,  and  felt  very  happy.  The  daisies 
are  in  a  saucer  before  me  at  this  moment. 
Everything  smelt  so  good, — so  warm,  and 
sweet,  and  young,  with  the  leaves  on  the  oaks 
still  little  and  delicate.     Life  is  an  admirable 


CHRISTINE  49 

arrangement,  isn't  it,  little  mother.  It  is  so 
clever  of  it  to  have  a  June  in  every  year  and  a 
morning  in  every  day,  let  alone  things  like  birds, 
and  Shakespeare,  and  one's  work.  You've 
sometimes  told  me,  when  I  was  being  particu- 
larly happy,  that  there  were  even  greater  hap- 
piness ahead  for  me, — when  I  have  a  lover,  you 
said;  when  I  have  a  husband;  when  I  have  a 
child.  I  suppose  you  know,  my  wise,  beloved 
mother;  but  the  deh'ght  of  work,  of  doing  the 
work  well  that  one  is  best  fitted  for,  will  be  very 
hard  to  beat.  It  is  an  exultation,  a  rapture, 
that  manifest  progress  to  better  and  better  re- 
sults through  one's  own  effort.  After  all,  be- 
ing obliged  on  Sundays  to  do  nothing  isn't  so 
I)ad,  because  then  I  have  time  to  think,  to  step 
back  a  little  and  look  at  life. 

Sec  what  a  quiet  afternoon  sunning  myself 
among  daisies  has  done  for  me.  A  week  ago 
I  was  measuring  the  months  to  be  got  througli 
before  being  witli  you  again,  in  dismay.  Now 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  very  hapj)i]y  climbing  up  a 
pleasant  hill,  just  steep  enough  to  make  me 
glad  I  can  climb  well,  and  all  the  way  is  beau- 
tiful and  safe,  and  on  the  top  there  is  you.  To 
get  to  the  top  will  be  perfect  joy,  but  the  get- 
ting there  is  very  wonderful  too.  You'll  judge 
from  all  this  th;it  I've  had  a  happy  week,  that 


50  CHRISTINE 

work  is  going  well,  and  that  I'm  hopeful  and 
confident.  I  mustn't  be  too  confident,  I  know, 
but  confidence  is  a  great  thing  to  work  on. 
I've  never  done  anything  good  on  daj^s  of  de- 
jection. 

Goodnight,  dear  mother.  I  feel  so  close  to 
you  tonight,  just  as  if  you  were  here  in  the 
room  with  me,  and  I  had  only  to  put  out  my 
finger  and  touch  Love.  I  don't  beheve  there's 
much  in  this  body  business.  It  is  only  spirit 
that  matters  really;  and  nothing  can  stop  your 
spirit  and  mine  being  together. 

Your  Chris. 

Still,  a  body  is  a  great  comfort  when  it  comes 
to  wanting  to  kiss  one's  darling  mother. 


Berlin,  Sunday,  June  21st,  1914-. 
My  precious  mother, 

The  weeks  fly  by,  full  of  work  and  Welt- 
politik.  They  talk  of  nothing  here  at  meals 
but  this  Welt  politik,  I've  just  been  having  a 
dose  of  it  at  breakfast.  To  say  that  the  board- 
ers are  interested  in  it  is  to  speak  feebly :  they 
blaze  with  interest,  they  explode  with  it,  they 
scorch  and  sizzle.  And  they  are  so  pugna- 
cious! Not  to  each  other,  for  contrary  to  the 
attitude  at  Kloster's  they  are  knit  together  by 
the  toughest  band  of  uncritical  and  obedient 
admiration  for  everything  German,  but  they 
are  pugnacious  to  the  Swede  girl  and  myself. 
Especially  to  myself.  There  is  a  holy  cahn 
about  the  Swede  girl  that  nothing  can  disturb. 
She  has  an  enviable  gift  for  getting  on  with 
her  meals  and  saying  nothing.  I  wish  I  had  it. 
Directly  I  have  learned  a  new  German  word 
I  want  to  say  it.  I  accumulate  German  words 
every  day,  of  course,  and  there's  something  in 
my  nature  and  something  in  the  way  I'm  talked 
at  and  to  at  Frau  Ik-rg's  table  that  makes 
me  want  to  say  all   the  words  I've  got  as 

61 


52  CHRISTINE 

quickly  as  possible.  And  as  I  can't  string 
tliem  into  sentences  my  conversation  consists 
of  single  words,  which  produce  a  very  odd  ef- 
fect, quite  unintended,  of  detached  explosions. 
When  I've  come  to  the  end  of  them  1  take  to 
English,  and  the  boarders  plunge  in  after  me, 
and  swim  or  drown  in  it  according  to  their  sev- 
eral ability. 

It's  queer,  the  atmosphere  here, — in  this 
house,  in  the  streets,  wherever  one  goes.  They 
all  seem  to  be  in  a  condition  of  tension — of  in- 
tense, tightly-strung  waiting,  very  like  that 
breathless  expectancy  in  the  last  act  of  "Tris- 
tan" when  Isolde's  ship  is  sighted  and  all  the 
violins  hang  high  up  on  to  a  shrill,  intolerably 
eager  note.  There's  a  sort  of  fever.  And  the 
big  words!  I  thought  Germans  were  stohd, 
quiet  people.  But  how  they  talk!  And  al- 
ways in  capital  letters.  They  talk  hi  tremen- 
dous capitals  about  what  they  call  the  deutsche 
Standpunkt;  and  the  deutsche  Standpunkt  is 
the  most  wonderful  thing  you  ever  came  across. 
Butter  wouldn't  melt  in  its  mouth.  It  is  too 
great  and  good,  almost,  they  give  one  to  un- 
derstand, for  a  world  so  far  behind  in  high 
qualities  to  appreciate.  No  other  people  has 
anything  approaching  it.  As  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  stripped  of  its  decorations  its  main 


CHRISTINE  53 

idea  is  that  what  Germans  do  is  right  and  what 
other  people  do  is  wrong.  Even  when  it  is  ex- 
actly the  same  thing.  And  also,  that  wrong 
becomes  right  directly  it  has  anything  to  do 
with  Germans.  Not  with  a  German.  The  in- 
dividual German  can  and  does  commit  every 
sort  of  wrong,  just  as  other  individuals  do  in 
other  countries,  and  he  gets  punished  for  them 
with  tremendous  harshness;  Kloster  saj^'s  with 
unfairness.  But  directly  he  is  in  the  plural 
and  becomes  Wir  Deutschen,  as  they  are  for- 
ever saying,  his  crimes  become  virtues.  As  a 
body  he  purifies,  he  has  a  purging  quality.  To- 
day they  were  saying  at  breakfast  that  if  a 
crime  is  big  enough,  if  it  is  on  a  grand  scale, 
it  leaves  off  being  a  crime,  for  then  it  is  a  suc- 
cess, and  success  is  always  virtue, — that  is,  I 
gather,  if  it  is  a  German  success;  if  it  is  a 
French  one  it  is  an  outrage.  You  mustn't  rob 
a  widow,  for  instance,  they  said,  because  that 
is  stupid;  the  result  is  small  and  you  may  be 
found  out  and  be  cut  by  your  friends.  But 
you  may  rob  a  great  many  widows  and  it  will 
be  a  successful  business  deal.  No  one  will  say 
anything,  because  you  have  ])ecn  clever  and 
successful. 

I  know  this  view  is  not  altogether  unknown 
in    other    countries,    })ut    they    don't    hold    it 


54  CHRISTINE 

deliberately  as  a  whole  nation.  Among  other 
things  that  Hilda  Seeberg's  father  did  which 
roused  her  unforgiveness  was  just  this, — to 
rob  too  few  widows,  come  to  grief  over  it, 
and  go  bankrupt  for  very  little.  She  told 
nie  about  it  in  an  outburst  of  dark  confidence. 
Just  talking  of  it  made  her  eyes  black  with 
anger.  It  was  so  terrible,  she  said,  to  smash 
for  a  small  amount, — such  an  overwhelming 
sliame  for  the  Seeberg  family,  whose  poverty 
thus  became  apparent  and  unhideable.  If  one 
smashes,  she  said,  one  does  it  for  millions,  other- 
wise one  doesn't  smash.  There  is  something 
so  chic  about  millions,  she  said,  that  whether 
you  make  them  or  whether  you  lose  them  you 
are  equally  well  thought-of  and  renowned. 

"But  it  is  better  to — well,  disappoint  few 
widows  than  many,"  I  suggested,  picking  my 
words. 

"For  less  than  a  million  marks,"  she  said, 
eyeing  me  sternly,  "it  is  a  disgrace  to  fail." 

They're  funny,  aren't  they.  I'm  greatly  in- 
terested. They  remind  me  more  and  more  of 
what  Kloster  says  they  are,  clever  children. 
They  have  the  unmoral  quality  of  children.  I 
listen — they  treat  me  as  if  I  were  the  audience, 
and  they  address  themselves  in  a  bunch  to  my 
comer — and  I  put  in  one  of  my  words  now 


CHRISTINE  55 

and  then,  generally  with  an  unfortunate  ef- 
fect, for  they  talk  even  louder  after  that,  and 
then  presently  the  men  get  up  and  put  their 
heels  together  and  make  a  stiff  inclusive  bovt^ 
and  disappear,  and  Frau  Berg  folds  up  her 
napkin  and  brushes  the  crumbs  out  of  her 
creases  and  says,  "Ja,  ja"  with  a  sigh,  as  a  sort 
of  final  benediction  on  the  departed  conversa- 
tion, and  then  rises  slowly  and  locks  up  the 
sugar,  and  then  treads  heavily  away  down  the 
passage  and  has  a  brief  skirmish  in  the  kitchen 
with  Wanda,  who  daily  tries  to  pretend  there 
hadn't  been  any  pudding  left  over,  and  then 
treads  heavily  back  again  to  her  bedroom,  and 
shuts  herself  in  till  four  o'clock  for  her  Mit- 
tagsruhe;  and  the  other  boarders  drift  away 
one  by  one,  and  I  run  out  for  a  walk  to  get  un- 
stiffened  after  having  practised  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  as  I  walk  I  tliink  over  what  they've 
been  saying,  and  try  to  see  things  from  their 
angle,  and  simply  can't. 

On  Tuesdays  and  Fridays  I  have  my  lesson, 
and  tell  Kloster  about  them.  He  says  they're 
entirely  typical  of  the  great  bulk  of  the  nation. 
''Wir  Deutschen,"  be  says,  and  laugbs,  "are  the 
easiest  people  in  tbe  world  to  govern,  because 
we  are  obedient  and  inflammable.  We  hare 
that  obedience  of  mind  so  convenient  to  Au- 


56  CHRISTINE 

thority,  and  we  are  inflammable  because  we 
are  greedy.  Any  prospect  held  out  to  us  of 
getting  something  belonging  to  some  one  else 
sets  us  instantly  alight.  Dangle  some  one 
else's  sausage  before  our  eyes,  and  we  will  go 
anywhere  after  it.  Wonderful  material  for 
S.  M."     And  he  adds  a  few  irreverences. 

Last  Wednesday  was  his  concert  at  the  Phil- 
armonie.  He  played  like  an  angel.  It  was  so 
strange,  the  fat,  red,  more  than  commonplace- 
looking  little  bald  man,  with  his  quite  expres- 
sionless face,  his  wilfully  stupid  face — for  I 
believe  he  does  it  on  purpose,  that  blankness, 
that  bulgy  look  of  one  who  never  thinks  and 
only  eats — and  then  the  heavenly  music.  It 
was  as  strange  and  arresting  as  that  other  mix- 
ture, that  startling  one  of  the  men  who  sell 
flowers  in  the  London  streets  and  the  flowers 
they  sell.  What  does  it  look  hke,  those  poor 
ragged  men  shuffling  along  the  kerb,  and  in 
their  arms,  rubbing  against  their  dirty  shoul- 
ders, great  baskets  of  beauty,  baskets  heaped 
up  with  charming  aristocrats,  gracious  and 
delicate  purities  of  shape  and  colour  and  scent. 
The  strangest  effect  of  all  is  when  they  happen, 
round  about  Easter,  to  be  selling  only  lilies, 
and  the  unearthly  purity  of  the  lilies  shines  on 
the  passersby  from  close  to  the  seller's  terrible 


CHRISTINE  57 

face.  Christ  must  often  have  looked  like  that, 
when  he  sat  close  up  to  Pharisees. 

But  although  Kloster's  music  Avas  certainly 
as  beautiful  as  the  lilies,  he  himself  wasn't  hke 
those  tragic  sellers.  It  was  only  that  he  was  so 
very  ordinary, — a  little  man  compact,  appar- 
ently, of  grossness,  and  the  music  he  was  mak- 
ing was  so  divine.  It  was  that  marvellous 
French  and  Russian  stuff.  I  must  plaj'^  it  to 
you,  and  play  it  to  you,  till  you  love  it.  It's 
like  nothing  there  has  ever  been.  It  is  of  an 
exquisite  youth, — untouched,  fearless,  quite 
heedless  of  tradition,  going  its  own  way  straight 
through  and  over  difficulties  and  prohibitions 
that  for  centuries  have  been  supposed  final. 
People  like  Wagner  and  Strauss  and  the  rest 
seem  so  much  sticky  and  insanitary  mud  next 
to  these  exquisite  young  ones,  and  so  very 
old;  and  not  old  and  wonderful  like  tlie  great 
men,  Beethoven  and  Bach  and  Mozart,  but 
uglily  old  like  a  noisy  old  lady  in  a  yellow 
wig. 

The  audience  applauded,  but  wasn't  quite 
sure.  Such  a  master  as  Kloster,  and  one  of 
their  own  flesh  and  bk)od,  is  always  applauded, 
but  I  think  the  irregidarity,  the  utter  careless- 
ness of  the  music,  its  a])parcntly  accidental 
beauty,  was  difficult  for  them.     Germans  have 


58  CHRISTINE 

to  have  beauty  explained  to  them  and  ac- 
counted for, — stamped  first  by  an  official,  au- 
thorized, before  they  can  be  comfortable  with 
it.  I  sat  in  a  corner  and  cried,  it  was  so  lovely. 
I  couldn't  help  it.  I  hid  away  and  pulled  my 
hat  over  my  face  and  tried  not  to,  for  there  was 
a  German  in  eyeglasses  near  me,  who,  perceiv- 
ing I  wanted  to  hide,  instantly  spent  his  time 
staring  at  me  to  find  out  why.  The  music  held 
all  things  in  it  that  I  have  known  or  guessed, 
all  the  beauty,  the  wonder,  of  life  and  death  and 
love.  I  recognized  it.  I  almost  called  out, 
"Yes — of  course — I  know  that  too." 

Afterwards  I  would  have  hked  best  to  go 
home  and  to  sleep  with  the  sound  of  it  still  in 
my  heart,  but  Kloster  sent  round  a  note  saying 
I  was  to  come  to  supper  and  meet  some  people 
who  would  be  useful  for  me  to  know.  One  of 
his  pupils,  who  brought  the  note,  had  been  or- 
dered to  pilot  me  safely  to  the  house,  it  being ' 
late,  and  as  we  walked  and  Kloster  drove  in 
somebody's  car  he  was  there  already  when  we 
arrived,  busy  opening  beer  bottles  and  looking 
much  more  appropriate  than  he  had  done  an 
hour  earlier.  I  can't  tell  you  how  kindly  he 
greeted  me,  and  with  what  charming  little 
elucidatory  comments  he  presented  me  to  his 
wife  and  the  other  guests.     He  actually  seemed 


CHRISTINE  59 

proud  of  me.     Think  how  I  must  have  glowed. 

"This  is  Mees  Chrees,"  he  said,  taking  my 
hand  and  leading  me  into  the  middle  of  the 
room.  "I  will  not  and  cannot  embark  on 
her  family  name,  for  it  is  one  of  those  Eng- 
lish names  that  a  prudent  man  avoids.  Nor 
does  it  matter.  For  in  ten  years — nay,  in 
five — all  Europe  will  have  learned  it  by 
heart." 

There  were  about  a  dozen  people,  and  we 
had  beer  and  sandwiches  and  were  very  happy. 
Kloster  sat  eating  sandwiches  and  staring  be- 
nevolentlv  at  us  all,  more  like  an  amiable  and 
hospitable  prawn  than  ever.  You  don't  know, 
little  mother,  how  wonderful  it  is  that  he  should 
say  these  praising  tilings  of  me,  for  I'm  told 
by  other  pupils  that  he  is  dreadfully  severe  and 
disagreeable  if  he  doesn't  think  one  is  getting 
on.  It  was  immensely  kind  of  him  to  ask  me 
to  supper,  for  there  was  somebody  there,  a 
Grafin  Koseritz,  whose  husband  is  in  the  min- 
istry, and  who  is  herself  very  influential  and 
violently  interested  in  music.  She  pulls  most 
of  the  strings  at  Bayreutli,  Kk)ster  says,  more 
of  them  even  than  Frau  Cosima  now  that  she 
is  old,  and  gets  one  into  anything  slic  likes  if 
she  thinks  one  is  worth  wliile.  She  was  rery 
amiable  and  gracious,   and   told  me   I   must 


t)0  CHRISTINE 

marry  a  German!  Because,  she  said,  all  good 
music  is  by  rights,  by  natural  rights,  the  prop- 
ertj'^  of  Germany. 

I  wanted  to  say  what  about  Debussy,  and 
Ravel,  and  Stravinski,  but  I  didn't. 

She  said  how  much  she  enjoyed  these  in- 
formal evenings  at  Kloster's,  and  that  she  had 
a  daughter  about  my  age  who  was  devoted,  too, 
to  music,  and  a  worshipper  of  Kloster's. 

I  asked  if  she  was  there,  for  there  was  a  girl 
away  in  a  corner,  but  she  looked  shocked,  and 
said  "Oh  no";  and  after  a  pause  she  said  again, 
"Oh  no.  One  doesn't  bring  one's  daughter 
here." 

"But  I'm  a  daughter,"  I  said, — 1  admit 
tactlessly;  and  she  skimmed  away  over 
that  to  things  that  sounded  wise  but  weren't 
really,  about  violins  and  the  technique  of  fid- 
dling. 

Not  that  I  haven't  already  felt  it,  the  cleav- 
age here  in  the  classes ;  but  this  was  my  first  ex- 
perience of  the  real  thing,  the  real  Junker  lady 
— the  Koseritzes  are  Prussians.  She,  being 
married  and  mature,  can  dabble  if  she  likes  in 
other  sets,  can  come  down  as  a  bright  patroness 
from  another  world  and  clean  her  feathers  in  a 
refreshing  mud  bath,  as  Kloster  put  it,  com- 


CHRISTINE  61 

meriting  on  his  supper  party  at  my  lesson  last 
Friday ;  but  she  would  carefully  keep  her  young- 
daughter  out  of  it. 

They  made  me  play  after  supper.  Actually 
Kloster  brought  out  his  Strad  and  said  I  should 
play  on  that.  It  was  evident  he  thought  it  im- 
portant for  me  to  play  to  these  particular  peo- 
ple, so  though  I  was  dreadfully  taken  aback 
and  afraid  I  was  going  to  disgrace  my  master, 
I  was  so  much  touched  by  this  kindness  and 
care  for  my  future  that  I  obeyed  without  a 
word.  I  played  the  Kreutzer  Sonata,  and  an 
officer  played  the  accompaniment,  a  young  man 
who  looked  so  fearfully  smart  and  correct  and 
wooden  that  I  wondered  why  he  was  there  till 
he  began  to  play,  and  then  I  knew;  and  as  soon 
as  I  started  I  forgot  the  people  sitting  round 
so  close  to  me,  so  awkwardly  and  embarrass- 
ingly near.  The  Strad  fascinated  me.  It 
seemed  to  be  playing  by  itself,  singing  to  me, 
telling  me  strange  and  beautiful  secrets.  I 
stood  there  just  listening  to  it. 

They  were  all  very  kind  and  enthusiastic, 
and  talked  eagerly  to  each  other  of  a  new  star, 
a  trouvaille.  Think  of  your  Chris,  only  the 
other  day  Ijcing  put  in  a  corner  l)y  you  in  just 
expiation  of  her  ofl'cnslvencss — it  really  feels 


C-2  CHRISTINE 

as  if  it  were  yesterday — think  of  her  being  a 
new,  or  anything  else,  star!  But  I  won't  be  < 
too  proud,  because  people  are  always  easily 
kind  after  supper,  and  besides  they  had  been 
greatly  stirred  all  the  evening  at  the  concert 
by  Kloster's  playing.  He  was  pleased  too,  and 
said  some  encouraging  and  delightful  things. 
The  Junker  lady  was  very  kind,  and  asked  me 
to  lunch  with  her,  and  I'm  going  tomorrow. 
The  young  man  who  played  the  accompani- 
ment bowed,  clicked  his  heels  together,  caught 
up  my  hand,  and  kissed  it.  He  didn't  say  any- 
thing. Kloster  says  he  is  passionately  devoted 
to  music,  and  so  good  at  it  that  he  would  easily 
have  been  a  first-rate  musician  if  he  hadn't  hap- 
pened to  have  been  born  a  Junker,  and  there- 
fore has  to  be  an  officer.  It's  a  tragedy,  ap- 
parently, for  Kloster  says  he  hates  soldiering, 
and  is  ill  if  he  is  kept  away  long  from  music. 
He  went  away  soon  after  that. 

Grafin  Koseritz  brought  me  back  in  her  car 
and  dropped  me  at  Frau  Berg's  on  her  way 
home.  She  lives  in  the  Sommerstrasse,  next  to 
the  Brandenburger  Thor,  so  she  isn't  very  far 
from  me.  She  shuddered  when  she  looked  up 
at  Frau  Berg's  house.  It  did  look  very  dis- 
mal. 


CHRISTINE  63 

Bedtime. 
I'm  so  sleepy,  precious  mother,  so  sleepy  that 
I  must  go  straight  to  bed.  I  can't  hold  my 
head  up  or  my  eyes  open.  I  think  it's  the 
weather — it  was  very  hot  today.  Good  night 
and  bless  you,  my  sweetest  mother. 

Your  own  Chris  who  loves  vou. 


Berlin,  Sunday,  June  28th.    Evening. 
Beloved  little  mother, 

I  didn't  write  this  morning,  but  went  for  a 
whole  day  into  the  woods,  because  it  was  such  a 
hot  day  and  I  longed  to  get  away  from  Berlin. 
I've  been  wandering  about  Potsdam.  It  is 
only  half  an  hour  away  in  the  train,  and  is  full 
of  woods  and  stretches  of  water,  as  well  as 
palaces.  Palaces  weren't  the  mood  I  was  in. 
I  wanted  to  walk  and  walk,  and  get  some  of  the 
pavement  stiffness  out  of  my  legs,  and  when 
I  was  tired  sit  down  under  a  tree  and  eat  the 
bread  and  chocolate  I  took  with  me  and  stare 
at  the  sky  through  leaves.     So  I  did. 

I've  had  a  most  beautiful  day,  the  best  since 
I  left  you.  I  didn't  speak  to  a  soul  all  day, 
and  found  a  place  up  behind  Sans  Souci  on  the 
edge  of  a  wood  looking  out  over  a  ryefield  to 
an  old  windmill,  and  there  I  sat  for  hours;  and 
after  I  had  finished  remembering  what  I  could 
of  the  Scholar  Gypsy,  which  is  what  one  gener- 
ally does  when  one  sits  in  summer  on  the  edge 
of  a  cornfield,  I  sorted  out  my  thoughts. 
They've  been  getting  confused  lately  in  the 

64 


CHRISTINE  Q5 

rush  of  work  day  after  day,  as  confused  as  the 
drawer  I  keep  my  gloves  and  ribbons  in,  thrust- 
ing them  in  as  I  take  them  off  and  never  having 
time  to  tidy.  Life  tears  along,  and  I  have 
hardly  time  to  look  at  my  treasures.  I'm  go- 
ing to  look  at  them  and  count  them  up  on  Sun- 
days. As  the  summer  goes  on  I'll  pilgrimage 
out  every  Sunday  to  the  woods,  as  regularly  as 
the  pious  go  to  church,  and  for  much  the  same 
reason, — to  consider,  and  praise,  and  thank. 

I  took  your  two  letters  with  me,  reading 
them  again  in  the  woods.  They  seemed  even 
more  dear  out  there  where  it  was  beautiful. 
You  sound  so  content,  darling  mother,  about 
me,  and  so  full  of  belief  in  me.  You  may  be 
very  sure  that  if  a  human  being,  by  trying  and 
working,  can  justify  your  dear  belief  it's  your 
Chris.  The  snapshot  of  the  border  full  of 
Canterbury  bells  makes  me  able  to  picture  you. 
Do  you  wear  the  old  garden  hat  I  loved  you 
so  in  when  you  garden?  Tell  me,  because  I 
want  to  think  of  you  exactly.  It  makes  my 
mouth  water,  those  Canterbury  bells.  I  can 
see  their  lovely  colours,  their  ])ink  and  bkie  and 
})urple,  with  the  white  Sweet  Willinms  and  the 
pale  lilac  viohis  you  write  about.  Well,  there's 
nothing  of  that  in  the  Liit/owstrasse.  No 
wonder  I  went  away  from  it  this  morning  to 


66  CHRISTINE 

go  out  and  look  for  June  in  the  woods.  The 
woods  were  a  little  thin  and  austere,  for  there 
has  been  no  rain  lately,  but  how  enchanting 
after  the  barren  dustiness  of  my  Berlin  street ! 
I  did  love  it  so.  And  I  felt  so  free  and  glori- 
ous, coming  off  on  my  own  for  my  hard-earned 
Sunday  outing,  just  like  any  other  young 
man. 

The  train  going  down  was  full  of  officers, 
and  they  all  looked  very  smart  and  efficient  and 
satisfied  with  themselves  and  life.  In  my  com- 
partment they  were  talking  together  eagerly 
all  the  way,  talking  shop  with  unaffected  ap- 
petite, as  though  shop  were  so  interesting  that 
even  on  Sundays  they  couldn't  let  it  be,  and 
poring  together  over  maps.  No  trace  of  stol- 
iditj\  But  where  is  this  stolidity  one  has 
heard  about?  Compared  to  the  Germans  I've 
seen,  it  is  we  who  are  stolid;  stolid,  and  slow, 
and  bored.  The  last  thing  these  people  are  is 
bored.  On  the  contrary,  the  officers  had  that 
same  excitement  about  them,  that  same  strung- 
upness,  that  the  men  boarders  at  Frau  Berg's 
have. 

Potsdam  is  charming,  and  swarms  with  pal- 
aces and  parks.  If  it  hadn't  been  woods  I  was 
after  I  would  have  explored  it  with  great  in- 
terest.    Do   you   remember   when   you   read 


CHRISTINE  6T 

Carlyle's  Frederick  to  me  that  winter  you  were 
trying  to  persuade  me  to  learn  to  sew?  And, 
bribing  me  to  sew,  you  read  aloud?  I  didn't 
learn  to  sew,  but  I  did  learn  a  great  deal  about 
Potsdam  and  Hohenzollerns,  and  some  Sun- 
day when  it  isn't  quite  so  fine  I  shall  go  down 
and  visit  Sans  Souci,  and  creep  back  into  the 
past  again.  But  today  I  didn't  want  walls 
and  roofs,  I  wanted  just  to  walk  and  walk.  It 
was  very  crowded  in  the  train  coming  back, 
full  of  people  who  had  been  out  for  the  day, 
and  weary  little  children  were  crying,  and  we 
all  sat  heaped  up  anyhow.  I  know  I  clutched 
two  babies  on  my  lap,  and  that  they  showed 
every  sign  of  having  no  self-control.  They 
were  very  sweet,  though,  and  I  wouldn't  have 
minded  it  a  bit  if  I  had  had  lots  of  skirts;  but 
when  you  only  have  two! 

Wanda  was  very  kind,  and  brought  me  some 
secret  coffee  and  bread  and  butter  to  my  room 
when  I  told  her  I  had  walked  at  least  ten  miles 
and  was  too  tired  to  go  into  supper.  She  cried 
out  "Ilerr  Je!" — which  I'm  afraid  is  sliort  for 
Lord  Jesus,  and  is  an  exclamation  dear  to  her 
— and  seized  the  coffee  jiot  at  once  and  started 
heating  it  up.  I  remembered  afterwards  that 
Oerman  miles  are  three  times  the  size  of  Eng- 
lish ones,  so  no  wonder  slic  said  llcrr  Jc.     But 


68  CHRISTINE 

just  think:    I  haven't  seen  a  single  boarder  for 
a  whole  day.     I  do  feel  so  much  refreshed. 

You  know  I  told  you  in  my  last  letter  I  was 
going  to  lunch  with  the  Koseritzes  on  Monday, 
and  so  I  did,  and  *the  chief  thing  that  hap- 
pened there  was  that  I  was  shy.  Imagine  it. 
So  shy  that  I  blushed  and  dropped  things. 
For  years  I  haven' tth ought  of  what  I  looked 
like  when  I've  been  with  other  people,  because 
for  years  other  people  have  been  so  absorbingly 
interesting  that  I  forgot  I  was  there  too;  but 
at  the  Koseritzes  I  suddenly  found  myself  re- 
membering, greatly  to  my  horror,  that  I  have 
a  face,  and  that  it  goes  about  with  me  wherever 
I  go,  and  that  parts  of  it  are — well,  I  don't  like 
them.  And  I  remembered  that  my  hair  had 
been  done  in  a  hurry,  and  that  the  fingers 
of  my  left  hand  have  four  hard  lumps  on 
their  tips  where  they  press  the  strings  of  my 
fiddle,  and  that  they're  very  ugly,  but  then 
one  can't  have  things  both  ways,  can  one. 
Also  I  became  aware  of  my  clothes,  and  we 
know  how  fatal  that  is  when  they  are  w^eak 
clothes  like  mine,  don't  we,  little  mother?  You 
used  to  exhort  me  to  put  them  on  with 
care  and  concentration,  and  then  leave  them 
to  God.  Such  sound  advice!  And  I've  fol- 
lowed it  so  long  that  I  do  completely  forget 


CHRISTINE  69 

them;  but  last  ^londay  I  didn't.  They  were 
urged  on  my  notice  by  Grafin  Koseritz's  daugh- 
ter, whose  eyes  ran  over  me  from  head  to  foot 
and  then  back  again  when  I  came  in.  She  was 
the  neatest  thing — aus  dem  Ei  gegossen,  as 
they  express  perfect  correctness  of  appearance. 
I  suddenly  knew,  what  I  have  always  sus- 
pected, that  I  was  blowsy, — blowsy  and  loose- 
jointed,  with  legs  that  are  too  long  and  not  the 
right  sort  of  feet.  I  hated  my  Beethovenkopf 
and  all  its  hair.  I  wanted  to  have  less  hair, 
and  for  it  to  be  drawn  neatly  high  off  my  face 
and  brushed  and  waved  in  beautiful  regular 
hues.  And  I  wanted  a  spotless  lacy  blouse, 
and  a  string  of  pearls  round  my  throat,  and  a 
perfectly  made  blue  serge  skirt  without  mud 
on  it, — it  was  raining,  and  I  had  walked.  Do 
you  know  what  I  felt  like?  A  goodnatured 
thing.  The  sort  of  creature  people  say  gen- 
erously about  afterwards,  "Oh,  but  she's  so 
goodnatured." 

Grafin  Koseritz  was  terribly  kind  to  me,  and 
that  made  me  shyer  than  ever,  for  I  knew  she 
was  trying  to  put  me  at  my  ease,  and  you  can 
imagine  how  shy  tlud  made  me.  I  blushed  and 
dropped  things,  and  the  more  I  blushed  and 
dropped  things  the  kinder  she  was.  vVnd  all 
tlic  time  my  contemporary,  Helena,  looked  at 


70  CHRISTINE 

me  with  the  same  calm  eyes.  She  has  a  com- 
pletely emotionless  face.  I  saw  no  trace  of  a 
passion  for  music  or  for  anything  else  in  it. 
She  made  no  approaches  of  any  sort  to  me, 
she  just  calmly  looked  at  me.  Her  mother 
talked  with  the  extreme  vivacity  of  the  hostess 
who  has  a  difficult  party  on  hand.  There  was 
a  silent  governess  between  two  children,  Junk- 
erlets  still  in  the  school-room,  who  stared  un- 
interruptedly at  me  and  seemed  unsuccessfully 
endeavouring  to  place  me;  there  was  a  young 
lady  cousin  who  talked  during  the  whole  meal 
in  an  undertone  to  Helena ;  and  there  was  Graf 
Koseritz,  an  abstracted  man  who  came  in  late, 
muttered  something  vague  on  being  introduced 
to  me  and  told  I  was  a  new  genius  Kloster  had 
unearthed,  sat  down  to  his  meal  from  which  he 
did  not  look  up  again,  and  was  monosyllabic 
when  his  wife  tried  to  draw  him  in  and  make 
the  conversation  appear  general.  And  all  the 
^  time,  while  lending  an  ear  to  her  cousin's  mur- 
mur of  talk,  Helena's  calm  eyes  lingered  on 
one  portion  after  the  other  of  your  poor  vul- 
nerable Chris.    ^  *" 

Actually  I  found  myself  hoping  hotly  that 
I  hadn't  forgotten  to  wash  my  ears  that  morn- 
ing in  the  melee  of  getting  up.  I  have  to  wash 
myself  in  bits,  one  at  a  time,  because  at  Frau 


CHRISTINE  71 

Berg's  I'm  only  given  a  very  small  tin  tub,  the 
bath  being  used  for  keeping  extra  bedding  in. 
It  is  difficult  and  distracting,  and  sometimes 
one  forgets  little  things  like  ears,  little  extra 
things  like  that ;  and  when  Helena's  calm  eyes, 
which  appeared  to  have  no  sort  of  flicker  in 
them,  or  hesitation,  or  blink,  settled  on  one  of 
my  ears  and  hung  there  motionless,  I  became  so 
much  unnerved  that  I  upset  the  spoon  out  of 
the  whipped-cream  dish  that  was  just  being 
served  to  me,  on  to  the  floor.  It  was  a  parquet 
floor,  and  the  spoon  made  such  a  noise,  and  the 
cream  made  such  a  mess.  I  was  so  WTctched, 
because  I  had  already  upset  a  pepper  thing 
earlier  in  the  meal,  and  spilt  some  water.  The 
white-gloved  butler  advanced  in  a  sort  of  stately 
goose-step  with  another  spoon,  which  he  placed 
on  the  dish  being  handed  to  me,  and  a  third 
menial  of  lesser  splendour  but  also  white- 
gloved  brought  a  cloth  and  wiped  uj)  the  mess, 
and  the  Griifin  became  more  terribly  and  vol- 
ubly kind  than  ever.  Helena's  eyes  never 
wavered.  They  were  still  on  my  car.  A  lit- 
tle more  and  I  wouloWiavc  Rached  tliat  state 
the  goaded  shy  get  to  when  they  suddenly  in 
their  agony  say  more  striking  things  than  the 
boldest  would  dream  of  saying,  but  Herr  von 
Inster  came  in. 


72  CHRISTINE 

He  is  the  young  man  I  told  you  about  who 
played  my  accompaniment  the  other  night. 
We  had  got  to  the  coffee,  and  the  servants  were 
gone,  and  the  Graf  had  lit  a  cigar  and  was  gaz- 
ing in  deep  abstraction  at  the  tablecloth  while 
the  Griifin  assured  me  of  his  keen  interest  in 
music  and  its  interpretation  by  the  young  and 
promising,  and  Helena's  eyes  were  resting  on  a 
spot  there  is  on  my  only  really  nice  blouse, — 
I  can't  think  how  it  got  there,  mother  darling, 
and  I'm  fearfully  sorry,  and  I've  tried  to  get  it 
out  with  benzin  and  stuff,  but  it  is  better  to  wear 
a  blouse  with  spots  on  it  than  not  to  wear  a 
blouse  at  all,  isn't  it.  I  had  pinned  some  flow- 
ers on  it  too,  to  hide  it,  and  so  they  did  at  first, 
but  they  were  fading  and  hanging  down,  and 
there  was  the  spot,  and  Helena  found  it.  Well, 
Herr  von  Inster  came  in,  and  put  us  all  right. 
He  looks  hke  nothing  but  a  smart  young  offi- 
cer, very  beautiful  and  slim  in  his  Garde-Uhlan 
uniform,  but  he  is  really  a  lot  of  other  things 
besides.  He  is  the  Koseritz's  cousin,  and 
Helena  says  Dii  to  him.  He  was  very  polite, 
said  the  right  things  to  everybody,  explained 
he  had  had  his  luncheon,  but  thought,  as  he  was 
passing,  he  would  look  in.  He  would  not  deny, 
he  said,  that  he  had  heard  I  was  coming — ^he 
made  me  a  little  bow  across  the  table  and  smiled 


CHRISTINE  73 

— and  that  he  had  hopes  I  might  perhaps  be 
persuaded  to  play. 

Not  having  a  fiddle  I  couldn't  do  that.  I 
wish  I  could  have,  for  I'm  instantly  natural  and 
happy  when  I  get  playing;  but  the  Grafin  said 
she  hoped  I  would  play  to  some  of  her  friends 
one  evening  as  soon  as  she  could  arrange  it, — 
friends  interested  in  youthful  geniuses,  as  she 
put  it. 

I  said  I  would  love  to,  and  that  it  was  so  kind 
of  her,  but  privately  I  thought  I  would  inquire 
of  Kloster  first;  for  if  her  friends  are  all  as 
deeply  interested  in  music  as  the  Graf  and 
Helena,  then  I  w^ould  be  doing  better  and  more 
profitably  by  going  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock  as 
usual,  rather  than  emerge  bedizened  from  my 
lair  to  go  and  flaunt  in  these  haunts  of  splendid 
virtue. 

After  Herr  von  Inster  came  I  began  faintly 
to  enjoy  myself,  ior  he  talked  all  round,  and 
greatly  and  obviously  relieved  his  aunt  by  do- 
ing so.  Helena  let  go  of  my  ear  and  looked 
at  him.  Once  she  very  nearly  smiled.  Tlie 
other  girl  left  off  murmuring,  and  talked  about 
tilings  I  could  talk  about  too,  such  as  England 
and  Germany — they're  never  tired  of  that — 
and  Strauss  and  Debussy.  Only  the  Graf  sat 
mute,  his  eyes  fixed  on  tlie  taI)lccloth. 


74  CHRISTINE 

*']My  husband  is  dying  to  hear  you  play,'* 
said  the  Griifin,  when  he  got  up  presently  to 
go  hack  to  his  work.  "Absolutely  dying,"  she 
said,  recklessly  padding  out  the  leanness  of  his 
very  bald  good-bye  to  me. 

He  said  nothing  even  to  that.  He  j  ust  went. 
He  didn't  seem  to  be  dying. 

Herr  von  Inster  walked  back  with  me.  He 
is  very  agreeable-looking,  with  kind  eyes  that 
are  both  shrewd  and  sad.  He  talks  English 
very  well,  and  so  did  everybody  at  the  Koser- 
itzes  who  talked  at  all.  He  is  pathetically  keen 
on  music.  Kloster  says  he  would  have  been  a 
really  great  player,  but  being  a  Junker  settles 
him  for  ever.  It  is  tragic  to  be  forced  out  of 
one's  natural  bent,  and  he  says  he  hates  soldier- 
ing. People  in  the  street  were  very  polite,  and 
made  way  for  me  because  I  was  with  an  offi- 
cer.    I  wasn't  pushed  off  the  pavement  once. 

Good  night  my  own  mother.  I've  had  a 
happy  week.  I  put  my  arms  round  you  and 
kiss  you  with  all  that  I  have  of  love. 

Your  Chris. 

Wanda  came  in  in  great  excitement  to  fetch 
my  tray  just  now,  and  said  a  prince  has  been 
assassinated.  She  heard  the  Herrschaften 
saving  so  at  supper.     She  thought  they  said  it 


CHRISTINE  75 

was  an  Austrian,  but  whatever  prince  it  was  it 
was  Majestdtshelcidigung  to  get  killing  him, 
and  she  marvelled  how  any  one  had  dared. 
Then  Frau  Berg  herself  came  to  tell  me.  By 
this  time  I  was  in  bed, — pig-tailed,  and  ready 
to  go  to  sleep.  She  was  tremendously  excited, 
and  I  felt  a  cold  shiver  down  my  back  watch- 
ing her.  She  was  so  much  excited  that  I 
caught  it  from  her  and  was  excited  too.  Well, 
it  is  very  dreadful  the  way  these  king-people 
get  bombed  out  of  life.  She  said  it  was  the 
Austrian  heir  to  the  throne  and  his  wife,  both 
of  them.  But  of  course  you'll  know  all  about 
it  by  the  time  you  get  this.  She  didn't  know 
any  details,  but  there  had  been  extra  editions 
of  the  Sunday  papers,  and  she  said  it  would 
mean  war. 

"War?"     I  echoed. 

"War,"  she  repeated;  and  began  to  tread 
heavily  about  the  room  saying,  "War.     War." 

"But  who  with?"  I  asked,  watching  her  fas- 
cinated, sitting  up  in  bed  holding  on  to  my 
knees. 

"It  will  come,"  said  Frau  Berg,  treading 
about  like  some  huge  Judaic  prophetess  who 
sniffs  blood.  "It  must  come.  There  will  be 
no  (juict  in  the  world  till  blood  has  been  let.*' 

"But  what  blood?"  I  asked,  rather  tremu- 


76  CHRISTINE 

lousljs  for  her  voice  and  behaviour  curdled  me. 

"The  blood  of  all  those  evil-doers  who  are 
responsible,"  she  said;  and  she  paused  a  mo- 
ment at  the  foot  of  my  bed  and  folded  her  arms 
across  her  chest — they  could  hardlj'^  reach,  and 
the  word  chest  sounds  much  too  flat — and 
added,  "Of  whom  there  are  many." 

Then  she  began  to  walk  about  again,  and 
each  time  a  foot  went  down  the  room  shook. 
"All,  all  need  punishing,"  she  said  as  she 
walked.  "There  will  be,  there  must  be,  pun- 
ishment for  this.  Great  and  terrible.  Blood 
will,  blood  must  flow  in  streams  before  such  a 
crime  can  be  regarded  as  washed  out.  Such 
evil-doers  must  be  emptied  of  all  their  blood." 

And  then  luckily  she  went  away,  for  I  was 
beginning  to  freeze  to  the  sheets  with  horror. 

I  got  out  of  bed  to  write  this.  You'll  be 
shocked  too,  I  know.  The  way  royalties  are 
snuffed  out  one  after  the  other!  How  glad  I 
am  I'm  not  one  and  you're  not  one,  and  we  can 
live  safely  and  fruitfully  outside  the  range 
of  bombs.  Poor  things.  It  is  very  horrible. 
Yet  they  never  seem  to  abdicate  or  want  not 
to  be  royalties,  so  that  I  suppose  they  think  it 
worth  it  on  the  whole.  But  Frau  Berg  was 
terrible.  What  a  bloodthirsty  woman.  I 
wonder  if  the  other  boarders  will  talk  like  that. 


CHRISTINE  77 

I  do  pray  not,  for  I  hate  the  very  word  blood. 
And  why  does  she  say  there'll  be  war?  They 
will  catch  the  murderers  and  punish  them  as 
they've  done  before,  and  there'll  be  an  end  of 
it.  There  wasn't  war  when  the  Empress  of 
Austria  was  killed,  or  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Servia.  I  think  Frau  Berg  wanted  to  make 
me  creep.  She  has  a  fixed  idea  that  English 
people  are  every  one  of  them  much  too  com- 
fortable, and  should  at  all  costs  be  made  to 
know  what  being  uncomfortable  is  like.  For 
their  good,  I  suppose. 


Berlin,  Tuesday,  June  SOih,  1914. 
Darling  mother. 

How  splendid  that  you're  going  to  Switzer- 
land next  month  with  the  Cunliffes.  I  do 
think  it  is  glorious,  and  it  will  make  you  so 
strong  for  the  winter.  And  think  how  much 
nearer  you'll  be  to  me!  I  always  suspected 
Mrs.  Cunliffe  of  being  secretly  an  angel,  and 
now  I  know  it.  Your  letter  has  just  come  and 
I  simply  had  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am. 

Chris. 
This  isn't  a  letter,  it's  a  cry  of  joy. 


7S 


Berlin,  Sunday,  July  5ih,  1914. 
My  blessed  little  mother, 

It  has  been  so  hot  this  week.  We've  been 
sweltering  up  here  under  the  roof.  If  you  are 
having  it  anything  like  this  at  Chertsey  the 
sooner  you  persuade  the  Cunliffes  to  leave  for 
Switzerland  the  better.  Just  the  sight  of 
snow  on  the  mountains  out  of  your  window 
would  keep  you  cool.  You  know  I  told  you 
my  bedroom  looks  onto  the  Liitzowstrasse  and 
the  sun  beats  on  it  nearly  all  day,  and  Hies  in 
great  numbers  have  taken  to  coming  up  here 
and  listening  to  me  play,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
practise  satisfactorily  while  they  walk  about  en- 
raptured on  my  neck.  I  can't  swish  them 
away,  because  l)oth  my  hands  are  busy.  1 
wish  I  had  a  tail. 

Frau  Berg  says  there  never  used  to  be  flies 
in  this  room,  and  suggests  with  some  sternness 
that  I  brought  them  with  mc, — the  eggs,  I  sup- 
pose, in  my  luggage.  Slie  is  inchned  to  deny 
that  they're  here  at  all,  on  the  ground  chiefly 
that  nothing  so  irregular  as  a  fly  out  of  its 
proper  place,  which  is,  she  says,  a  manure  heap, 


80  CHRISTINE 

is  possible  in  Germany.  It  is  too  well  man- 
aged, is  Germanj^  she  says.  I  said  I  sup- 
posed she  knew  that  because  she  had  seen  it  in 
the  newspapers.  I  was  snappy,  you  see.  The 
hot  weather  makes  me  disposed,  I'm  afraid,  to 
impatience  with  Frau  Berg.  She  is  so  large, 
and  she  seems  to  soak  up  what  air  there  is,  and 
whenever  she  has  sat  on  a  chair  it  keeps  wann 
afterwards  for  hours.  If  only  some  clever 
American  with  inventions  rioting  in  his  brain 
would  come  here  and  adapt  her  to  being  an 
electric  fan!  I  want  one  so  badly,  and  she 
would  be  beautiful  whirling  round,  and  would 
make  an  immense  volume  of  air,  I'm  sure. 

Well,  darling  one,  you  see  I'm  peevish.  It's 
because  I'm  so  hot,  and  it  doesn't  get  cool  at 
night.  And  the  food  is  so  hot  too  and  so 
greasy,  and  the  pallid  young  man  with  the  red 
mouth  who  sits  opposite  me  at  dinner  melts 
visibly  and  continuously  all  the  time,  and 
Wanda  coming  round  with  the  dishes  is  like 
the  coming  of  a  blast  of  hot  air.  Kloster  says 
I'm  working  too  much,  and  wants  me  to  prac- 
tise less.  I  said  I  didn't  see  that  practising 
less  would  make  Wanda  and  the  young  man 
cooler.  I  did  try  it  one  day  when  my  head 
ached,  and  you've  no  idea  what  a  long  day  it 
seemed.     So  empty.     Nothing  to  do.     Only 


CHRISTIXE  81 

Berlin.  And  one  feels  more  alone  in  Berlin 
than  anywhere  in  the  world,  I  think.  Kloster 
says  it's  because  I'm  workmg  too  much,  but  I 
don't  see  how  working  less  would  make  Berlin 
more  companionable.  Of  course  I'm  not  a  bit 
alone  really,  for  there  is  Kloster,  who  takes  a 
very  real  and  lively  interest  in  me  and  is  the 
most  delightful  of  men,  and  there  is  Herr  von 
Inster,  who  has  been  twice  to  see  me  since  that 
day  I  lunched  at  his  aunt's,  and  everybody  in 
this  house  talks  to  me  now, — more  to  me,  I 
think,  than  to  any  other  of  the  boarders,  be- 
cause I'm  English  and  they  seem  to  want  to 
educate  me  out  of  it.  And  Hilda  Seeberg  has 
actually  got  as  far  in  friendship  as  a  cautious 
invitation  to  have  chocolate  with  her  one  after- 
noon some  day  in  the  future  at  Wertheim's; 
and  the  pallid  j'oung  man  has  suggested  show- 
ing me  the  Hohenzollern  museum  some  Sun- 
day, where  he  can  explain  to  me,  by  means  of 
relics,  the  glorious  history  of  that  high  family, 
as  he  put  it;  and  I'rau  Berg,  though  she 
looks  like  some  massive  Satan,  isn't  really 
Satanic  I  expect;  and  Dr.  Krumndaut  says 
every  day  as  he  comes  into  the  diningroom  rub- 
bing his  hands  and  passes  my  chair,  "Na,  was 
macht  England?"  wlu'ch  is  a  sign  he  is  being 
gracious.     It  is  only  a  feeling,  this  of  being 


82  CHRISTINE 

completely  alone.  But  I've  got  it,  and  the 
longer  I'm  here  and  the  better  I  know  people 
the  greater  it  becomes.  It's  an  uneasiness.  I 
feel  as  if  my  sinrit  were  alone, — the  real,  ulti- 
mate and  only  bit  of  me  that  is  me  and  that 
matters. 

If  I  go  on  like  this  you  too,  my  little  mother, 
will  begin  echoing  Kloster  and  tell  me  that  I'ni 
working  too  much.  Dear  England.  Dear, 
dear  England.  To  find  out  how  much  one 
loves  England  all  one  has  to  do  is  to  come  to 
Germany. 

Of  course  they  talk  of  nothing  else  at  every 
meal  here  now  but  the  Archduke's  murder. 
It's  the  impudence  of  the  Servians  that  chiefly 
makes  them  gasp.  That  they  should  dare! 
Dr.  Krummlaut  says  they  never  would  have 
dared  if  they  hadn't  been  instigated  to  this 
deed  of  atrocious  blasphemy  by  Russia, — Rus- 
sia bursting  with  envy  of  the  Germanic  powers 
and  encouraging  every  affront  to  them.  The 
whole  table,  except  the  Swede  who  eats  steadily 
on,  sees  red  at  the  word  affront.  Frau  Berg 
reiterates  that  the  world  needs  blood-letting 
before  there  can  be  any  real  calm  again,  but  it 
isn't  German  blood  she  wants  to  let.  Germany 
is  surrounded  by  enormously  wicked  people,  I 
gather,  all  swollen  with  envy,  hatred  and  mal- 


CHRISTINE  83 

ice,  and  all  of  gigantic  size.  In  the  middle  of 
these  monsters  browses  Germany,  very  white 
and  woolly-haired  and  loveable,  a  little  lamb 
among  the  nations,  artlessly  only  wanting  to 
love  and  be  loved,  w^eak  physically  compared  to 
its  towering  neighbours,  but  strong  in  sim- 
phcity  and  the  knowledge  of  its  gute  Reclit. 
And  when  they  say  these  things  they  all  turn 
to  me  for  endorsement  and  approval — they've 
given  up  seeking  response  from  the  Swede,  be- 
cause she  only  eats — and  I  hastily  run  over  my 
best  words  and  pick  out  the  most  suitable  one, 
which  is  generally  hcrrlich,  or  else  ich  gratu- 
liere.  The  gigantic,  the  really  cosmic  cyni- 
cism I  fling  into  it  glances  off  their  comfortable 
thick  skins  unnoticed. 

I  think  Kloster  is  right,  and  they  haven't 
grown  up  yet.  People  like  the  Koseritzes, 
people  of  the  world,  don't  show  how  young 
they  are  in  the  way  these  middle-class  Germans 
do,  but  I  daresay  they  are  just  the  same  really. 
They  have  the  greediness  of  children  too, — I 
don't  mean  in  things  to  eat,  though  they  have 
that  too,  and  take  the  violent  interest  of  ten 
years  old  in  what  there'll  he  for  dinner — I  mean 
greed  for  other  people's  possessions.  In  all 
their  talk,  all  tlieir  expoundings  of  (Jeutsche 
Idealen,  I  have  found  no  trace  of  consideration 


84  CHRISTINE 

for  others,  or  even  of  any  sort  of  recognition 
that  other  nations  too  may  have  rights  and 
virtues.  I  asked  Kloster  whether  I  hadn't 
chanced  on  a  httle  group  of  people  who  were 
exceptions  in  their  way  of  looking  at  life,  and 
he  said  No,  they  were  perfectly  typical  of  the 
Prussians,  and  that  the  other  classes,  upper 
and  lower,  thouglit  in  the  same  way,  the  differ- 
ence lying  only  in  their  manner  of  expressing 
it. 

"All  these  people,  Mees  Chrees,"  he  said, 
"have  been  drilled.  Do  not  forget  that  great 
fact.  Every  man  of  every  class  has  spent  some 
of  the  most  impressionable  years  of  his  life  be- 
ing drilled.  He  never  gets  over  it.  Before 
that,  he  has  had  the  nursery  and  the  school- 
room :  drill,  and  very  thorough  drill,  in  another 
form.  He  is  drilled  into  what  the  authorities 
find  it  most  convenient  that  he  should  think 
from  the  moment  he  can  understand  words. 
By  the  time  he  comes  to  his  military  service  his 
mind  is  already  squeezed  into  the  desired  shape. 
Then  comes  the  finishing  off, — the  body  drilled 
to  match  the  mind,  and  you  have  the  perfect 
slave.  And  it  is  because  he  is  a  slave  that  when 
be  has  power — and  every  man  has  power  over 
some  one — he  is  so  great  a  bully." 


CHRISTINE  85 

"But  you  must  have  been  drilled  toa"  I 
said,  "and  you're  none  of  these  things.'* 

He  looked  at  me  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
with  his  funny  protruding  eyes.  Then  he  said, 
"I  am  told,  and  I  believe  it,  that  no  man  ever 
really  gets  over  having  been  imprisoned." 

Evening. 

I  feel  greatly  refreshed,  for  what  do  you 
think  I've  been  doing  since  I  left  off  writing 
this  morning?  ^lotoring  out  into  the  country, 
— the  sweet  and  blessed  country,  the  home  of 
God's  elect,  as  the  hynm  says,  only  the  hymn 
meant  Jerusalem,  and  the  golden  kind  of  Jeru- 
salem, which  can't  be  half  as  beautiful  as  just 
plain  grass  and  daisies.  Herr  von  Inster  ap- 
peared up  here  about  twelve.  Wanda  came  to 
my  door  and  banged  on  it  with  what  sounded 
like  a  saucepan,  and  I  daresay  was,  for  she 
wouldn't  waste  time  leaving  off  stirring  the 
pudding  while  she  went  to  open  the  front  door, 
and  she  called  out  very  loud,  "Dcr  Ilcrr  Offi- 
zier  ist  schon  tiicder  da." 

All  the  flat  must  have  heard  her,  and  so  did 
Herr  von  Inster. 

"Here  I  am,  schon  xdcdcr  da,"  he  said,  click- 
ing his  heels  together  when  I  came  into  the  din- 


86  CHRISTINE 

ingroom  where  he  was  waiting  among  the 
debris  of  the  first  spasms  of  Wanda's  table- 
laying;  and  we  both  laughed. 

He  said  the  Master — so  he  always  speaks  of 
Kloster,  and  with  such  affection  and  admira- 
tion in  his  voice — and  his  wife  were  downstairs 
in  his  car,  and  wanted  him  to  ask  me  to  join 
them  so  that  he  might  drive  us  all  into  the 
country  on  such  a  fine  day. 

You  can  imagine  how  quickly  I  put  on  my 
hat. 

"It  is  doing  you  good  already,"  he  said,  look- 
ing at  me  as  we  went  down  the  four  flights  of 
stairs, — so  Kloster  had  been  telling  him,  too, 
that  story  about  too  much  work. 

Herr  von  Inster  drove,  and  we  three  sat  on 
the  back  seat,  because  he  had  his  soldier  chauf- 
feur with  him,  so  I  didn't  get  as  much  talk  with 
him  as  I  had  hoped,  for  I  like  him  very  much, 
and  so  would  you,  little  mother.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  aggressive  swashbuckler  about 
him.  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  push  a  woman  off  the 
pavement  when  there  isn't  room  for  him. 

I  don't  think  I've  told  you  about  Frau  Klos- 
ter, but  that  is  because  one  keeps  on  forgetting 
she  is  there.  Perhaps  that  quality  of  benefi- 
cent invisibleness  is  what  an  artist  most  needs  in 
a  wife.    She  never  says  anything,  except  things 


CHRISTINE  87 

that  require  no  answering.  It's  a  great  vir- 
tue, I  should  think,  in  a  wife.  From  time  to 
time,  when  Kloster  has  Use  viajcstdted  a  little 
too  much,  she  murmurs  Aber  Adolf;  or  she  an- 
nounces placidly  that  she  has  just  killed  a 
mosquito ;  or  that  the  sky  is  blue ;  and  Kloster's 
talk  goes  on  on  the  top  of  this  little  undercur- 
rent without  taking  the  least  notice  of  it. 
They  seem  very  happy.  She  tends  him  as 
carefully  as  one  would  tend  a  baby, — one  of 
those  quite  new  pink  ones  that  can't  stand  any- 
thing hardly  without  crumpling  up, — and  com- 
petently clears  life  round  him  all  empty  and 
free,  so  that  he  has  room  to  work.  I  wish  I 
had  a  wife. 

We  drove  out  through  Potsdam  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Brandenburg,  and  lunched  in  tiie  woods 
at  Potsdam  by  the  lake  the  Marmor  Palais  is 
on.  Kloster  stared  at  this  across  the  water 
while  he  ate,  and  the  sight  of  it  tinged  his 
speech  regrettably.  Herr  von  Inster,  as  an 
officer  of  the  King,  ought  really  to  have  smit- 
ten him  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword,  l)ut  he 
didn't;  he  listened  and  smiled.  Pcrliaps  he 
felt  as  the  really  religious  do  about  (iod,  that 
the  Hohen7X)lkTns  are  so  high  up  that  criticism 
can't  harm  them,  but  T  doubt  it;  or  pcrliaps  he 
regards  Kloster  indulgently,  as  a  gifted  and 


88  CHRISTINE 

wayward  child,  but  I  doubt  that  too.  He  hap- 
pens to  be  intelhgent,  and  is  not  to  be  per- 
suaded that  a  spade  is  anything  but  a  spade, 
however  much  it  may  be  got  up  to  look  like 
the  Ark  of  the  Covenant  or  anything  else 
archaic  and  bedizened — God  forbid,  little 
mother,  that  you  should  suppose  I  meant  that 
dreadful  pun. 

Frau  Ivloster  had  brought  food  with  her, 
part  of  which  was  cherries,  and  they  slid  down 
one's  hot  dry  throat  like  so  many  cool  little 
blessings.  I  could  hardly  believe  that  I  had 
really  escaped  the  Sunday  dinner  at  the  pen- 
sion. We  were  very  content,  all  of  us  I  think, 
sitting  on  the  grass  by  the  water's  edge,  a  tiny 
wind  stirring  our  hair — except  Kloster's,  be- 
cause he  so  happily  hasn't  got  any,  which  must 
be  delicious  in  hot  weather, — and  rippling 
along  the  rushes. 

"She  grows  less  pale  every  hour,"  Kloster 
said  to  Herr  von  Inster,  fixing  his  round  eyes 
on  me. 

Herr  von  Inster  looked  at  me  with  his  grave 
shrewd  ones,  and  said  nothing. 

"We  brought  out  a  windflower,"  said  Klos- 
ter, *'and  behold  we  will  return  with  a  rose. 
At  present,  Mees  Chrees,  you  are  a  cross  be- 


CHRISTINE  89 

tween  the  two.  You  have  ceased  to  be  a  wmd- 
flower,  and  are  not  yet  a  rose.  I  wager  that 
by  five  o'clock  the  rose  period  will  have  set  in." 
They  were  both  so  kind  to  me  all  day,  you 
can't  think  little  mother,  and  so  was  Frau  Klos- 
ter,  only  one  keeps  on  forgetting  her.  Herr 
von  Inster  didn't  talk  much,  but  he  looked  quite 
as  content  as  the  rest  of  us.  It  is  strange  to 
remember  that  only  this  morning  I  was  writing 
about  feeling  so  lonely  and  by  myself  in  spirit. 
And  so  I  was;  and  so  I  have  been  all  this  week. 
But  I  don't  feel  like  that  now.  You  see  kow 
tlie  company  of  one  righteous  man,  far  more 
than  his  prayers,  availeth  much.  And  the  oom- 
pany  of  two  of  them  availeth  exactly  double. 
Kloster  is  certainly  a  righteous  man,  which  I 
take  it  means  a.  man  who  is  both  intelligent  and 
good,  and  so  I  am  sure  is  Herr  von  Inster. 
If  he  were  not,  he,  a  Junker  and  an  officer, 
would  think  being  with  people  so  outside  his 
world  as  the  Klosters  intolerable.  But  of 
course  then  he  wouldn't  be  with  them.  It 
wouldn't  interest  him.  It  is  so  funny  to  watch 
his  set,  regular,  wooden  profile,  and  then  when 
he  turns  and  looks  at  one  to  see  bis  eyes.  Tlie 
difference  just  eyes  can  make!  His  face  is  the 
face  of  the  drilled,  of  the  ix-rfcct  unthinking 
machine,  the  correct  and  well-born  Obcrlctit- 


90  CHRISTINE 

iiant;  and  out  of  it  look  the  eyes  of  a  human 
being  who  knows,  or  will  know  I'm  certain  be- 
fore life  has  done  with  him,  what  exultations 
are,  and  agonies,  and  love,  and  man's  uncon- 
querable mind.  He  really  is  very  nice.  I'm 
sure  you'd  like  him. 

After  lunch,  and  after  Kloster  had  said  some 
more  regrettable  things,  being  much  moved,  it 
appeared,  by  the  palace  facing  him  and  by  some 
personal  recollections  he  had  of  the  particular 
Hohenzollern  it  contained,  while  I  lay  looking 
up  along  the   smooth  beech-trunks  to  their 
bright  leaves  glancing  against  the  wonderful 
blue  of  the  sky — oh  it  was  so  lovely,  little 
mother! — and   Frau   Kloster   sometimes   said 
Aber  Adolf,  and  occasionally  announced  that 
she  had  slain  another  mosquito,  we  motored  on 
towards  Brandenburg,  along  the  chain  of  lakes 
formed  by  the  Havel.     It  was  like  heaven  after 
the  Liitzowstrasse.     And  at  four  o'clock  we 
stopped  at  a  Gasthaus  in  the  pinewoods  and 
had  coffee  and  wild  strawberries,  and  Herr  von 
Inster  paddled  me  out  on  the  Havel  in  an  old 
punt  we  found  moored  among  the  rushes. 

It  looked  so  queer  to  see  an  officer  in  full 
Sunday  splendour  punting,  but  there  are  a  few 
things  which  seem  to  us  ridiculous  that  Ger- 
mans do  with  great  simphcity.     It  was  rather 


CHRISTINE  91 

like  being  punted  on  the  Thames  bj^  somebody 
in  a  top  hat  and  a  black  coat.  He  looked  like  a 
bright  dragon-fly  in  his  lean  elegance,  balanc- 
ing on  the  rotten  little  board  across  the  end 
of  the  punt;  or  like  Siegfried,  made  up  to  date, 
on  his  journey  down  the  Rhine, — made  very 
much  up  to  date,  his  gorgeous  barbaric  boat 
and  fine  swaggering  body  that  ate  half  a  sheep 
at  a  sitting  and  made  large  love  to  lusty  god- 
desses wittled  away  by  the  centuries  to  this  old 
punt  being  paddled  about  slowly  by  a  lean 
man  with  thoughtful  eyes. 

I  told  him  he  was  like  Siegfried  in  the  second 
act  of  the  Gotterdiimmerung,  but  worn  a  little 
thin  by  the  passage  of  the  ages,  and  he  laughed 
and  said  that  he  at  least  had  got  Brunnhilde 
safe  in  the  boat  witli  him,  and  wasn't  going  to 
have  to  climb  through  fire  to  fetch  her.  He 
says  he  thinks  Wagner's  music  and  Strauss's 
intimately  characteristic  of  modern  Germany: 
the  noise,  the  sugary  sentimentality  making  the 
public  weep  tears  of  melted  sugar,  he  said,  the 
brutal  glorification  of  force,  the  all-conquering 
swagger,  the  exaggeration  of  emotions,  the  big 
gloom.  They  were  the  natural  expression,  he 
said,  of  the  phase  (Jermany  was  passing 
through,  and  Strauss  is  its  latest  flowering, — 
even  noisier,  even  more  bloody,  of  a  bigger 


92  CHRISTINE 

gloom.  In  that  immense  noise,  he  said,  was  all 
Germany  as  it  is  now,  as  it  will  go  on  being  till 
it  wakes  up  from  the  nightmare  dream  of  con- 
quest that  has  possessed  it  ever  since  the  pres- 
ent emperor  came  to  the  throne. 

"I'm  sure  you're  saying  things  you  oughtn't 
to,*'  I  said. 

"Of  course,"  he  said.  "One  always  is  in 
G^rm^any.  Everything  being  forbidden,  there 
is  nothing  left  but  to  sin.  I  have  j^et  to  learn 
that  a  multiplicity  of  laws  makes  people  be- 
have. Behave,  I  mean,  in  the  way  Authority 
wishes.** 

"But  Kloster  says  you're  a  nation  of  slaves, 
and  that  the  drilling  you  get  dots  make  you  be- 
have in  the  way  Authority  wishes." 

He  said  it  was  true  they  were  slaves,  but  that 
slaves  were  of  two  kinds, — the  completely 
cowed,  who  gave  no  further  trouble,  and  the 
furtive  evaders,  who  consoled  themselves  for 
their  outward  conformity  to  regulations  by 
every  sort  of  forbidden  indulgence  in  thought 
and  speech.  "This  is  the  kind  that  only  waits 
for  an  opportunity  to  flare  out  and  free  itself," 
he  said.  "Mind,  thinking,  can't  be  chained  up. 
Authority  knows  this,  and  of  all  things  in  the 
world  fears  thought." 

He  talked  about  the  Serajevo  assassinations. 


CHRISTINE  93 

and  said  he  was  afraid  they  would  not  be  set- 
tled very  easily.  He  said  Germany  is  seeth- 
ing,— seetliing,  he  said  emphatically,  with  de- 
sire to  fight ;  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  have 
a  great  army  at  such  a  pitch  of  perfection  as  the 
German  army  is  now  and  not  use  it;  that  if  a 
thing  like  that  isn't  used  it  will  fester  inwardly 
and  set  up  endless  internal  mischief  and  become 
a  danger  to  the  very  Crown  that  created  it. 
To  have  it  hanging  about  idle  in  this  rii)e  state, 
he  said,  is  like  keeping  an  unexercised  young 
horse  tied  up  in  the  stable  on  full  feed;  it  would 
soon  kick  the  stable  to  pieces,  wouldn't  it,  he 
said. 

"I  hate  armies,"  I  said.  *'I  hate  soldiering, 
and  all  it  stands  for  of  aggi-ession,  and  cruelty, 
and  crime  on  so  big  a  scale  that  it's  unpunish- 
able." 

"Great  God,  and  don't  H"  he  exclaimed, 
with  infinite  fer\'our. 

He  told  me  something  that  greatly  horri- 
fied me.  He  says  that  children  kill  themselves 
in  Germany.  They  commit  suicide,  school- 
children and  even  younger  ones,  in  great  num- 
bers every  year.  He  says  they're  driven  to  it 
hy  the  sheer  cruelty  of  the  way  they  are  over- 
worked and  made  to  feel  that  if  they  are  not 
moved  up  in  tJie  school  at  the  set  time  tbcy  and 


94  CHRISTINE 

their  parents  are  for  ever  disgraced  and  their 
whole  career  blasted.  Imagine  the  misery  a 
wretched  child  must  suffer  before  it  reaches 
the  stage  of  preferring  to  kill  itself  I  No  other 
nation  has  this  blot  on  it. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  nodding  in  agreement  with 
the  expression  on  my  face,  "y^s,  we  are  mad. 
It  is  in  this  reign  that  we've  gone  mad,  mad 
with  the  obsession  to  get  at  all  costs  and  by  any 
means  to  the  top  of  the  world.  We  must  out- 
strip; outstrip  at  whatever  cost  of  happiness 
and  Ufe.  We  must  be  better  trained,  more 
efficient,  quicker  at  grabbing  than  other  na- 
tions, and  it  is  the  children  who  must  do  it  for 
us.  Our  future  rests  on  their  brains.  And  if 
they  fail,  if  they  can't  stand  the  strain,  we 
break  them.  They're  of  no  future  use.  Let 
them  go.  Who  cares  if  they  kill  themselves? 
So  many  fewer  inefficients,  that's  all.  The 
State  considers  that  they  are  better  dead." 

And  all  the  while,  while  he  was  telling  me 
these  things,  on  the  shore  lay  Kloster  and  his 
Avife,  neatly  spread  out  side  by  side  beneath 
a  tree  asleep  witli  their  handkercliief  s  over  their 
faces.  That's  the  idea  we've  got  in  England 
of  Germany, — multitudes  of  comfortable 
couples,  kindly  and  sleepy,  snoozing  away  the 
afternoon  hours  in  gardens  or  pine  forests. 


CHRISTINE  95 

rhat's  the  idea  the  Government  wants  to  keep 
before  Europe,  Herr  von  Inster  says,  this  idea 
of  benevolent,  beery  harmlessness.  It  doesn't 
want  other  nations  to  know  about  the  children, 
the  dead,  flung  aside  children,  the  ruthless 
breaking  up  of  any  material  that  will  not  help 
in  the  driving  of  their  great  machine  of  de- 
struction, because  then  the  other  nations  would 
know,  he  says,  before  Germany  is  ready  for  it 
to  be  known,  that  she  will  stick  at  nothing. 

Wanda   has    just   taken    away   my   lamp, 
Good  night  my  own  sweet  motlier. 

Your  Chris. 


Berlin,  Wednesday,  July  8th,  1914, 
Beloved  mother, 

Kloster  says  I'm  to  go  into  the  comitry  this 
rery  week  and  not  come  back  for  a  whole  fort- 
night. This  is  just  a  line  to  tell  you  this,  and 
that  he  has  written  to  a  forester's  family  he 
knows  living  in  the  depths  of  the  forests 
up  beyond  Stettin.  They  take  in  sunmier- 
boarders,  and  have  had  pupils  of  his  before, 
and  he  is  arranging  with  them  for  me  to  go 
there  this  very  next  Saturday. 

Do  you  mind,  darhng  mother?  I  mean,  my 
doing  something  so  suddenly  without  asking 
you  first?  But  I'm  like  the  tail  being  wagged 
by  the  dog,  obliged  to  wag  whether  it  wants  to 
or  not.  I'm  very  unhappy  at  being  shovelled 
off  like  this,  away  from  my  lessons  for  two  solid 
weeks,  but  it's  no  use  my  protesting.  One 
can't  protest  with  Kloster.  He  says  he  won't 
teach  me  any  more  if  I  don't  go.  He  was 
quite  angry  at  last  when  I  begged,  and  said  it 
wouldn't  be  worth  his  while  to  go  on  teaching 
any  one  so  stale  with  over-practising  when 
thefr  weren't  fit  to  practise,  and  that  if  I  didn't 

96 


CHRISTINE  97 

stop,  all  I'd  ever  be  able  to  do  would  be  to 
play  in  the  second  row  of  violins — (not  even 
the  first!) — at  a  pantomime.  That  shrivelled 
me  up  into  silence.  Horror-stricken  silence. 
Then  he  got  kind  again,  and  said  I  had  this 
precious  gift — God,  he  said,  alone  knew  why  / 
had  got  it,  I  a  woman ;  what,  he  asked,  staring 
prawnishly,  is  the  good  of  a  woman's  having 
such  a  stroke  of  luck? — and  that  it  was  a  great 
responsibility,  and  I  wasn't  to  suppose  it  was 
my  gift  only,  to  spoil  and  mess  up  as  I  chose, 
but  that  it  belonged  to  the  world.  When  he 
said  that,  cold  shivers  trickled  down  my  spine. 
He  looked  so  solemn,  and  he  made  me  feel  so 
solemn,  as  though  I  were  being  turned,  like 
AVordsworth  in  The  Prelude,  into  a  dedicated 
spirit. 

But  I  expect  he  is  right,  and  it  is  time  I 
went  where  it  is  cooler  for  a  little  while.  I've 
been  getting  steadily  angrier  at  nothing  all  the 
week,  and  more  and  more  fretted  by  the  flies, 
and  one  day — would  you  believe  it —  I  actually 
sat  down  and  cried  with  irritation  because  of 
those  silly  flies.  I've  had  to  promise  not  to 
touch  a  fiddle  for  the  first  week  I'm  away,  and 
during  the  second  week  not  to  work  more  than 
two  hours  a  day,  and  then  T  may  come  back  il" 
I  feel  quite  well  again.     He  says  he'll  l)e  at 


98  CHRISTINE 

Ileringsdorf,  which  is  a  seaside  place  not  very 
far  away  from  where  I  shall  be,  for  ten  days 
himself,  and  will  come  over  and  see  if  I'm  being 
good.  He  says  the  Koseritz's  country  place 
isn't  far  from  where  I  shall  be,  so  I  shan't  feel 
as  if  I  didn't  laiow  a  soul  anywhere.  The 
Koseritz  party  at  which  I  was  to  play  never 
came  off.  I  was  glad  of  that.  I  didn't  a  bit 
want  to  play  at  it,  or  bother  about  it,  or  any- 
thing else.  The  hot  weather  drove  the  Grafin 
into  the  country,  Herr  von  Inster  told  me. 
He  too  seems  to  think  I  ought  to  go  away.  I 
saw  him  this  afternoon  after  being  with  Klo- 
ster,  and  he  says  he'll  go  down  to  his  aunt's — 
that  is  Grafin  Koseritz — while  I'm  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  will  ride  over  and  see  me. 
I'm  sure  you'd  like  him  very  much.  My  ad- 
dress will  be : 

bet  Herrn  Oherforster  Boms  ted 

Schuppenfelde 

Reg.  Bez.  Stettin. 

I  don't  know  what  Reg.  Bez.  means.  I've 
copied  it  from  a  card  Kloster  gave  me,  and  I 
expect  you  had  better  put  it  on  the  envelope. 
I'll  write  and  tell  you  directly  I  get  there. 
Don't  worry  about  me,  little  mother;  Kloster 
says  they  are  fearfully  kind  people,  and  it's  the 


CHRISTINE  99 

healthiest  place,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  away 
on  the  edge  of  a  thing  they  call  the  Haff,  which 
is  water.  He  says  that  in  a  week  I  shall  be 
leaping  about  like  a  young  roe  on  the  hill  side ; 
and  he  tries  to  lash  me  to  enthusiasm  by  talking 
of  all  the  wild  strawberries  there  are  there,  and 
all  the  cream. 

My  heart's  love,  darling  mother. 
Your  confused  and  rather  hustled  Cliris. 


Oherforsterei,  Schuppenfelde, 

July  11th,  1914, 
My  o^^  little  mother. 

Here  I  am,  and  it  is  lovely.  I  must  just  tell 
you  about  it  before  I  go  to  bed.  We're 
buried  in  forest,  eight  miles  from  the  nearest 
station,  and  that's  only  a  Kleinbahn  station,  a 
toy  thing  into  which  a  small  train  crawls  twice 
a  day,  having  been  getting  to  it  for  more  than 
three  hours  from  Stettin.  The  Oberforster 
met  me  in  a  high  yellow  carriage,  drawn  by  two 
long-tailed  horses  who  hadn't  been  worried  with 
much  drill  judging  from  their  individualistic 
behaviour,  and  we  lurched  over  forest  tracks 
that  were  sometimes  deep  sand  and  sometimes 
all  roots,  and  the  evening  air  was  so  delicious 
after  the  train,  so  full  of  different  scents  and 
freshness,  that  I  did  nothing  but  lift  up  my 
nose  and  sniff  with  joy. 

The  Oberforster  thought  I  had  a  cold,  with- 
out at  the  same  time  having  a  handkerchief; 
and  presently,  after  a  period  of  uneasiness  on 
my  behalf,  offered  me  his.  "It  is  not  quite 
clean,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  better  than  none." 

100 


CHRISTINE  iOl 

And  he  shouted,  because  I  was  a  foreigner  End 
therefore  would  understand  better  if  he 
shouted. 

I  explained  as  well  as  I  could,  which  was 
not  very,  that  my  sniffs  were  sniffs  of  exulta- 
tion. 

"Ach  so/'  he  said,  indulgent  with  the  in- 
dulgence one  feels  towards  a  newly  arrived 
guest,  before  one  knows  what  they  are  really 
like. 

We  drove  on  in  silence  after  that.  Our 
wheels  made  hardly  any  noise  on  the  sandy 
track,  and  I  suddenly  discovered  how  long  it  is 
since  I've  heard  any  birds.  I  wish  you  had 
come  with  me  here,  little  mother;  I  wish  you 
had  been  on  that  drive  this  evening.  There 
were  jays,  and  magpies,  and  woodpeckers,  and 
little  tiny  birds  hke  finches  that  kept  on  re- 
peating in  a  monotonous  sweet  pipe  the  open- 
ing bar  of  the  Beethoven  C  minor  Symphony 
No.  5.  We  met  nobody  the  whole  way  except 
a  man  with  a  cartload  of  wood,  who  greeted 
the  Oberforster  with  immense  res])ect,  and 
some  dilapidated  little  children  picking  wild 
strawberries.  I  wanted  to  remark  on  their 
dilapidation,  which  seemed  very  irregular  in 
this  well-conducted  country,  but  tliouglit  T  had 
best  leave  rcasfjncd  conversation  alone  till  I've 


102  CHRISTINE 

had  time  to  learn  more  German,  which  I*m  go- 
ing to  do  diligently  here,  and  till  the  Ober- 
forster  has  discovered  he  needn't  shout  in  order 
to  make  me  understand.  Sitting  so  close  to 
my  ear,  when  he  shouted  into  it  it  was  exactly 
as  though  some  one  had  hit  me,  and  hurt  just 
as  much. 

He  is  a  huge  rawboned  man,  with  the  flat- 
backed  head  and  protruding  ears  so  many  Ger- 
mans have.  What  is  it  that  is  left  out  of  their 
heads,  I  wonder?  His  moustache  is  like  the 
Kaiser's,  and  he  looks  rather  a  fine  figure  of  a 
man  in  his  grey-green  forester's  uniform  and 
becoming  slouch  hat  with  a  feather  stuck  in 
it.  Without  his  hat  he  is  less  impressive,  be- 
cause of  his  head.  I  suppose  he  has  to  have  a 
head,  but  if  he  didn't  have  to  he'd  be  very  good- 
looking. 

This  is  such  a  sweet  place,  little  mother. 
I've  got  the  dearest  little  clean  bare  bedroom, 
so  attractive  after  the  grim  splendours  of  my 
drawingroom-bedroom  at  Frau  Berg's.  You 
can't  think  how  lovely  it  is  being  here  after 
the  long  hot  journey.  It's  no  fun  travelling 
alone  in  Germany  if  you're  a  woman.  I  was 
elbowed  about  and  pushed  out  of  the  way  at 
stations  by  any  men  and  boys  there  were  as  if 
I  had  been  an  ownerless  trunk.     Either  that. 


CHRISTINE  103 

or  they  stared  incredibly,  and  said  things.  One 
little  boy — he  couldn't  have  been  more  than 
ten — winked  at  me  and  whispered  something 
about  kissing.  The  station  at  Stettin  was  hor- 
rible, much  worse  than  the  Berhn  one.  I  don't 
know  where  they  all  came  from,  the  crowds  of 
hooligan  boys,  just  below  military  age,  and  ex- 
traordinarilj'  disreputable  and  insolent.  To 
add  to  the  confusion  on  the  platform  there  were 
liundreds  of  Russians  and  Poles  with  their 
famihes  and  bundles — I  asked  my  porter  who 
they  were,  and  he  told  me — being  taken  from 
one  place  where  they  had  been  working  in  the 
fields  to  another  place,  shepherded  by  a  Ger- 
man overseer  with  a  fierce  dog  and  a  revolver; 
very  poor  and  ragged,  all  of  them,  but  gentle, 
and,  compared  to  the  Germans,  of  beautiful 
manners;  and  there  were  a  good  many  officers 
— it  was  altogether  the  most  excited  station 
I've  seen,  I  think — and  they  stared  too,  but  I'm 
certain  that  if  I  had  been  in  a  difficulty  and 
wanted  help  they  would  have  walked  away. 
Kloster  told  me  Germans  divide  women  into 
two  classes:  those  they  want  to  kiss,  and  those 
they  want  to  kick,  who  are  all  those  they  don't 
want  to  kiss.  One  can  be  kissed  and  kicked  in 
lots  of  ways  besides  actually,  I  think,  and  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  been  both  on  that  dreadful  plat- 


104  CHRISTINE 

form  at  Stettin.  So  you  can  imagine  how 
heavenly  it  was  to  get  into  this  beautiful  for- 
est, away  from  all  that,  into  the  quiet,  the 
Jioliness.  Frau  Bornsted,  who  learned  Eng- 
lish at  school,  told  me  all  the  farms,  including 
hers,  are  worked  by  Russians  and  Poles  who 
are  fetched  over  every  spring  in  thousands  by 
German  overseers.  "It  is  a  good  arrange- 
ment," she  said.  "In  case  of  war  we  would 
not  permit  their  departure,  and  so  would  our 
fields  continue  to  be  tilled."  In  case  of  war! 
Always  that  word  on  their  tongues.  Even  in 
this  distant  corner  of  peace. 

The  Oberforsterei  is  a  low  white  house  with 
a  clearing  round  it  in  which  potatoes  have  been 
planted,  and  a  meadow  at  the  back  going  down 
to  a  stream,  and  a  garden  in  front  behind  a 
low  paling,  full  of  pinks  and  larkspurs  and 
pansies.  A  pair  of  antlers  is  nailed  over  the 
door,  proud  relic  of  an  enormous  stag  the 
Oberforster  shot  on  an  unusually  lucky  day, 
and  Frau  Bornsted  was  sewing  in  the  porch 
beneath  honeysuckle  when  we  arrived.  It  was 
just  like  the  Germany  one  had  in  one's  story 
books  in  the  schoolroom  days.  It  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true  after  the  Lutzowstrasse.  Frau 
Bornsted  is  quite  a  pretty  young  woman,  flat 
rather  than  slender,  tall,  with  lovely  deep  blue 


CHRISTINE  105 

eyes  and  long  black  eyelashes.  She  would  be 
very  pretty  if  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  is 
pretty,  but  evidently  it  doesn't,  or  else  it  isn't 
proper  to  be  pretty  here;  I  think  this  is  the 
real  explanation  of  the  way  her  hair  is  scraped 
back  into  a  little  hard  knob,  and  her  face  shows 
signs  of  being  scrubbed  every  day  with  the  same 
soap  and  the  same  energy  she  uses  for  the 
kitchen  table.  She  has  no  children,  and  isn't, 
I  suppose,  more  than  twenty  five,  but  she  looks 
as  thirty  five,  or  even  forty,  looks  in  England. 

I  love  it  all.  It  is  really  just  like  a  story 
book.  We  had  supper  out  in  the  porch,  pre- 
pared, spread,  and  fetched  by  Frau  Bornsted, 
and  it  was  a  milk  soup — very  nice  and  funny, 
and  I  lapped  it  up  like  a  thirsty  kitten — and 
cold  meat,  and  fried  potatoes,  and  curds  and 
whey,  and  wild  strawberries  and  cream.  They 
have  an  active  cow  who  does  all  the  curds  and 
whey  and  cream  and  butter  and  milk-soup,  be- 
sides keeping  on  having  calves  without  a  mur- 
mur,— "She  is  an  example,"  said  Frau  Born- 
sted, who  wants  to  talk  English  all  the  time, 
which  will  play  havoc,  I'm  afraid,  with  my 
wanting  to  talk  (Tcrman. 

She  took  me  to  ;i  window  and  showed  me  the 
cow,  pasturing,  like  David,  beside  still  waters. 
**And  without  rebellious  thoughts  unsuited  to 


10«  CHRISTINE 


lier  sex,"  said  Fran  Bornsted,  turning  and  look- 
ing at  me.  She  showed  what  she  was  thinking 
of  by  adding,  "I  hope  you  are  not  a  suflPra- 
gette?" 

The  Oberforster  put  on  a  thin  green  linen 
coat  for  supper,  which  he  left  unbuttoned  to 
mark  that  he  was  off  duty,  and  we  sat  round 
the  table  till  it  was  starlight.  Owls  hooted  in 
the  forest  across  the  road,  and  bats  darted 
about  our  heads.  Also  there  were  mosquitoes. 
A  great  many  mosquitoes.  Herr  Bornsted 
told  me  I  wouldn't  mind  them  after  a  while. 
"Herrlich''  I  said,  with  real  enthusiasm. 

And  now  I'm  going  to  bed.  Kloster  was 
right  to  send  me  here.  I've  been  leaning  out 
of  my  window.  The  night  tonight  is  the  most 
beautiful  thing,  a  great  dark  cave  of  softness. 
I'm  at  the  back  of  the  house  where  the  meadow 
is  and  the  good  cow,  and  beyond  the  meadow 
there's  another  belt  of  forest,  and  then  just 
over  the  tops  of  the  pines,  which  are  a  httle 
more  softly  dark  than  the  rest  of  the  soft  dark- 
ness, there's  a  pale  line  of  light  that  is  the  star- 
lit water  of  the  Haff.  Frogs  are  croaking 
down  by  the  stream,  every  now  and  then  an 
owl  hoots  somewhere  in  tlie  distance,  and  the 
air  comes  up  to  my  face  off  the  long  grass  cool 
and  damp.     I  can't  tell  you  the  effect  the 


CHRISTINE  107 

blessed  silence,  the  blessed  peace  has  on  me 
after  the  fret  of  Berlin.  It  feels  Hke  getting 
back  to  God.  It  feels  like  being  home  again  in 
heaven  after  having  been  obliged  to  spend  six 
weeks  in  hell.  And  yet  here,  even  here  in  the 
very  lap  of  peace,  as  we  sat  in  the  porch  after 
supper  the  Oberforster  talked  ceaselessly  of 
Weltpolitik.  The  very  sound  of  that  word 
now  makes  me  wince ;  for  translated  into  plain 
English,  what  it  means  when  you've  pulled  all 
the  trimmings  off  and  look  at  it  squarely,  is 
just  taking  other  people's  belongings,  begin- 
ning with  their  blood.  I  must  learn  enough 
German  to  suggest  that  to  the  Oberforster: 
Murder,  as  a  prehminary  to  Theft.  I'm  afraid 
he  would  send  me  straight  back  in  disgraice 
to  Frau  Berg. 

Good  night  darling  mother.  I'll  write 
oftener  now.  My  rules  don't  count  this  fort- 
night.    Bless  you,  beloved  little  mother. 

Your  Chris. 


Sclmppenfelde,  Monday ^  July  13th. 
Sweet  mother, 

I  got  your  letter  from  Switzerland  for- 
warded on  this  morning,  and  like  to  feel  you're 
by  so  much  nearer  me  than  you  were  a  week 
ago.  At  least,  I  try  to  persuade  myself  that 
it's  a  thing  to  like,  but  I  know  in  my  heart  it 
makes  no  earthly  difference.  If  you're  only  a 
mile  away  and  I  mayn't  see  you,  what's  the 
good?  You  might  as  well  be  a  thousand.  The 
one  thing  that  will  get  me  to  you  again  is 
accomplished  work.  I  want  to  work,  to  be 
quick;  and  here  I  am  idle,  precious  days  pass- 
ing, each  of  which  not  used  for  working  means 
one  day  longer  away  from  j^ou.  And  I'm  so 
well.  There's  no  earthly  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  start  practising  again  this  very  min- 
ute. A  day  yesterday  in  the  forest  has  cured 
me  completely.  By  the  time  I've  lived 
through  my  week  of  promised  idleness  I  shall 
be  kicking  my  loose  box  to  pieces!  And  then 
for  another  whole  week  there'll  only  be  two 
hours  of  my  violin  allowed.     Why,  I  shall  fall 

108 


CHRISTINE  109 

on  those  miserable  two  hours  like  a  famished 
beggar  on  a  crust. 

Well,  I'm  not  going  to  grumble.  It's  only 
that  I  love  you  so,  and  miss  you  so  very  much. 
You  know  how  I  always  missed  you  on  Sunday 
in  Berlin,  because  then  I  had  time  to  feel,  to 
remember;  and  here  it  is  all  Sundays.  I've 
had  two  of  them  already,  yesterday  and  today, 
and  I  don't  know  what  it  will  be  like  by  the 
time  I've  had  the  rest.  I  walked  miles  yes- 
terda}'',  and  the  more  beautiful  it  was  the  more 
I  missed  you.  What's  the  good  of  having  all 
this  loveliness  by  oneself?  I  want  somebody 
with  me  to  see  it  and  feel  it  too.  If  you  were 
here  how  happy  we  should  be  I 

I  wish  you  knew  Ilerr  von  Inster,  for  I 
know  you'd  like  him.  I  do  think  he's  unusual, 
and  you  like  unusual  people.  I  had  a  letter 
from  him  today,  sent  with  a  book  he 
thought  I'd  like,  but  I've  read  it, — it  is  Selma 
Lagerlof's  Jerusalem;  do  you  remember  our 
reading  it  together  that  Easter  in  Cornwall? 
But  wasn't  it  very  charming  of  him  to  send  it? 
He  says  he  is  coming  this  way  the  end  of  the 
week  and  will  call  on  me  and  renew  his  ac- 
quaintance with  tlie  Obcrforster,  witli  wliom  he 
says  he  has  gone  shooting  sometimes  when  he 
has  been  staying  at  Koseritz.     His  Christian 


110  CHRISTINE 

name  is  Bernd.  Doesn't  it  sound  nice  and 
honest, 

I  suppose  by  the  end  of  the  week  he  means 
Saturday,  which  is  a  very  long  way  off.  Sat- 
urdays used  to  seem  to  come  rushing  on  to  the 
very  heels  of  Mondays  in  Berlin  when  I  was 
busy  working.  Little  mother,  you  can  take 
it  from  me,  from  your  wise,  smug  daughter, 
that  work  is  the  key  to  every  happiness. 
Without  it  happiness  won't  come  unlocked. 
What  do  people  do  who  don't  do  anything,  I 
vvonder? 

Koseritz  is  only  five  miles  away,  and  as  he'll 
stay  there,  I  suppose,  with  his  relations,  he 
won't  have  very  far  to  come.  He'U  ride  over, 
I  expect.  He  looks  so  nice  on  a  horse.  I  saw 
him  once  in  the  Thiergarten,  riding.  I'd  love 
to  ride  on  these  forest  roads, — the  sandy  ones 
are  perfect  for  riding;  but  when  I  asked  the 
Oberforster  today,  after  I  got  Herr  von  lu- 
ster's letter,  whether  he  could  lend  me  a  horse 
while  I  was  here,  what  do  you  think  I  found 
out?  That  Kloster,  suspecting  I  might  want 
to  ride,  had  written  him  instructions  on  no  ac- 
count to  allow  me  to.  Because  I  might  tumble 
oflP,  if  you  please,  and  sprain  either  of  my  pre- 
cious wrists.  Did  j^ou  ever.  I  believe  Kloster 
regards  me  only  as  a  vessel  for  carrying  about 


CHRISTINE  111 

music  to  other  people,  not  as  a  human  being  at 
ail.  It  is  like  the  way  jockeys  are  kept,  strict 
and  watched,  before  a  race. 

Frau  Bornsted  gazed  at  me  with  her  large 
serious  eyes,  and  said,  "Do  you  play  the  violin, 
then,  so  well?" 

"No,"  I  snapped.  "I  don't."  And  I 
drummed  with  my  fingers  on  the  windowpane 
and  felt  as  rebellious  as  six  years  old. 

But  of  course  I'm  going  to  be  good.  I  won't 
do  anything  that  may  delay  my  getting  home 
to  you. 

The  Bornsteds  say  Koseritz  is  a  very  beau- 
tiful place,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  Haff. 
They  talk  with  deep  respectfulness  of  the  Herr 
Graf,  and  the  Frau  Griifin,  and  the  junge 
Komtesse.  It's  wonderful  how  respectful 
Germans  are  towards  those  definitely  above 
them.  And  so  uncritical.  Kloster  says  that 
it  is  drill  does  it.  You  never  get  over  the  awe, 
he  says,  for  the  sergeant,  for  the  lieutenant, 
for  whoever,  as  you  rise  a  step,  is  one  step 
higher.  I  told  the  Bornsteds  I  had  met  the 
Kciscritzes  in  Berlin,  and  they  looked  at  me 
with  a  new  interest,  and  Frau  Bornsted,  who 
has  been  very  prettily  taking  me  in  hand  and 
endeavouring  to  root  out  the  opinions  she  takes 
for  granted  that  I  hold,  being  an  Engldnderin, 


112  CHRISTINE 

came  down  for  a  while  more  nearly  to  my  level, 
and  after  having  by  questioning  learned  that  I 
had  lunched  with  the  Koseritzes,  and  having 
endeavoured  to  extract,  also  by  questioning, 
what  we  had  had  to  eat,  which  I  couldn't  re- 
member except  the  whipped  cream  I  spilt  on 
the  floor,  she  remarked,  slowly  nodding  her 
head,  "It  must  have  been  very  agreeable  for 
you  to  be  with  the  grdfliche  Familief' 

"And  for  them  to  be  with  me,"  I  said,  moved 
to  forwardness  by  being  full  of  forest  air,  which 
goes  to  my  head. 

I  suppose  this  was  what  they  call  disrespect- 
ful without  being  funny,  for  Frau  Bornsted 
looked  at  me  in  silence,  and  Herr  Bornsted, 
who  doesn't  understand  English,  asked  in  Ger- 
man, seeing  his  wife  solemn,  "What  does  she 
say?"  And  when  she  told  him  he  said,  "Ach/' 
and  showed  his  disapproval  by  absorbing  him- 
self in  the  Deutsche  Tageszeitung. 

It's  wonderful  how  easy  it  is  to  be  disre- 
spectful in  Germany.  You've  only  got  to  be 
the  least  bit  cheerful  and  let  some  of  it  out,  and 
you've  done  it. 

"Why  are  the  English  always  so  like  that?" 
Frau  Bornsted  asked  presently,  after  having 
marked  her  regret  at  my  behaviour  by  not  say- 
ing anything  for  five  minutes. 


CHRISTINE  113 

"Like  what?" 

*'So — so  without  reverence.  And  yet  you 
are  a  rehgious  people.  >You  send  out  mission- 
aries." 

"Yes,  and  support  bishops,"  I  said.  ''You 
haven't  got  any  bishops." 

"You  are  the  first  nation  in  the  world  as  re- 
gards missionaries,"  she  said,  gazing  at  me 
thoughtfully  and  taking  no  notice  of  the 
bishops.  "My  father" — her  father  is  a  pastor 
— "has  a  great  admiration  for  your  mis- 
sionaries. How  is  it  you  have  so  many  mis- 
sionaries and  at  the  same  time  so  little  rever- 
ence?" 

"Perhaps  that  is  why,"  I  said;  and  started 
off  explaining,  while  she  looked  at  me  with 
beautiful  uncomprehending  eyes,  that  the  reac- 
tion from  the  missionaries  and  from  the  kind 
of  spirit  that  prompts  their  raising  and  ex- 
port might  conceivably  produce  a  desire  to  be 
irreverent  and  laugh,  and  that  life  more  and 
more  seemed  to  me  like  a  pendulum,  and  that 
it  needs  must  swing  both  ways. 

Frau  Bornsted  sat  twisting  her  wedding 
ring  on  her  finger  till  I  was  quiet  again.  She 
does  this  whenever  I  emit  anything  that  can 
be  called  an  idea.  It  reminds  her  that  she  is 
married,  and  that  I,  as  she  says,  am  nur  ein 


lU  CHRISTINE 

jiinges  Mddcken,  and  therefore  not  to  be  taken 
seriously. 

When  I  had  finished  about  the  pendulum, 
she  said,  "All  this  will  be  cured  when  you  have 
a  husband." 

There  was  a  tea  party  here  yesterday  after- 
noon. At  least,  it  was  cofiPee.  I  thought 
there  were  no  neighbours,  and  when  I  came 
back  late  from  having  been  all  day  in  the  for- 
est, missing  with  an  indifference  that  amazed 
Frau  Bornsted  the  lure  of  her  Sunday  dinner, 
and  taking  some  plum-cake  and  two  Bibles 
with  me,  Enghsh  and  German,  because  I'm  go- 
ing to  learn  German  that  way  among  other 
ways  while  I*m  here,  and  I  think  it's  a  very 
good  way,  and  it  immensely  impressed  Frau 
Bornsted  to  see  me  take  two  Bibles  out  for  a 
walk, — when  I  got  back  about  five,  untidy  and 
hot  and  able  to  say  off  a  whole  psalm  in  perfect 
Lutheran  German,  I  found  several  high  yellow 
carriages,  like  the  one  I  was  fetched  in  on  Sat- 
urday, in  front  of  the  paling,  with  nosebags  and 
rugs  on  the  horses,  and  indoors  in  the  parlour 
a  number  of  other  foresters  and  their  wives, 
besides  Frau  Bornsted's  father  and  mother  and 
younger  sister,  and  the  local  doctor  and  his 
wife,  and  the  Herr  Lehrer,  a  tall  young  man 


CHRISTINE  115 

in  spectacles  who  teaches  in  the  village  school 
two  miles  away. 

I  was  astonished,  for  I  imagined  complete 
isolation  here.  Fran  Bornsted  says,  though, 
that  this  only  happens  on  Sundays.  They 
were  sitting  round  the  remnants  of  coffee  and 
cake,  the  men  smoking  and  talking  together 
apart  from  the  women,  the  women  with  their 
bonnet-strings  untied  and  hanging  over  their 
bosoms,  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  many  and 
much,  telhng  each  other,  while  they  fanned 
themselves  with  immense  handkerchiefs,  what 
they  had  had  for  their  Sunday  dinner. 

I  would  have  slunk  away  when  I  heard  the 
noise  of  voices,  and  gone  round  to  the  peaceful 
company  of  the  cow,  but  Frau  Bornsted  saw 
me  coming  :^p  the  path  and  called  me  in. 

I  went  in  reluctantly,  and  on  my  appearing 
there  was  a  dead  silence,  which  would  have  un- 
nerved me  if  I  hadn't  still  had  my  eyes  so  full 
of  sunlight  that  I  hardly  saw  anything  in  the 
(hirk  room,  and  stood  there  blinking. 

Unsere  junge  Kngldndcrin"  said  Frau 
Bornsted,  presenting  me.  "Schiihlcrin  von 
Kloster — grosses  Talent, — ''  I  heard  her  add- 
ing, handing  round  the  bits  of  information  as 
though  it  was  cake. 


116  CHRISTINE 

They  all  said  Ach  so,  and  Wirklich,  and 
somebody  asked  if  I  liked  Germany,  and  I  said, 
still  not  seeing  much,  *'Es  ist  wundervoll/* 
which  provoked  a  murmur  of  applause,  as  the 
newspapers  say. 

I  found  I  was  expected  to  sit  in  a  corner 
with  Frau  Bornsted's  sister,  who  with  the  Leh- 
rer  and  myself,  being  all  of  us  unmarried, 
represented  what  the  others  spoke  of  as  die 
Jugend,  and  that  I  was  to  answer  sweetly  and 
modestly  any  question  I  was  asked  by  the  oth- 
ers, but  not  to  ask  any  myself,  or  indeed  not  to 
speak  at  all  unless  in  the  form  of  answering.  I 
gathered  this  from  the  behaviour  of  Frau  Born- 
sted's sister ;  but  I  do  find  it  very  hard  not  to  be 
natural,  and  it's  natural  to  me,  as  you  know  to 
your  cost,  don't  you,  little  mother,  co  ask  what 
things  mean  and  why. 

There  was  a  great  silence  while  I  was  given 
a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  cake  by  Frau  Born- 
sted,  helped  by  her  sister.  The  young  man, 
the  third  in  our  trio  of  youth,  sat  motionless  in 
the  chair  next  to  me  while  this  was  done.  I 
wanted  to  fetch  my  cup  myself,  rather  than 
let  Frau  Bornsted  wait  on  me,  but  she  pressed 
me  down  into  my  chair  again  with  firmness  and 
the  pained  look  of  one  who  is  witnessing 
tlie  committing  of  a  solecism.     "Bitte — take 


CHRISTINE  117 

place  again,"  she  said,  her  English  giving  way 
in  the  stress  of  getting  me  to  behave  as  I 
should. 

The  women  looked  on  with  open  interest  and 
curiosity,  examining  my  clothes  and  hair  and 
hands  and  the  Bibles  I  was  clutching  and  the 
flowers  I  had  stuck  in  where  the  Psalms  are, 
because  I  never  can  find  the  Psalms  right  off. 
The  men  looked  too,  but  with  caution.  I  was 
fearfully  untidy.  You  would  have  been 
shocked.  But  I  don't  know  how  one  is  to  lie 
about  on  moss  all  day  and  stay  neat,  and  no- 
body told  me  I  was  going  to  tumble  into  the 
middle  of  a  party. 

The  first  to  disentangle  himself  from  the 
rest  and  come  and  speak  to  me  was  Frau  Born- 
sted's  father,  Pastor  Wienicke.  He  came  and 
stood  in  front  of  me,  his  legs  apart  and  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  and  he  took  the  cigar  out  to  tell 
me,  what  I  already  knew,  that  I  was  English. 
"Sie  sind  englisch"  said  Ilerr  Pastor  Wien- 
icke. 

"Ja"  said  I,  as  modestly  as  I  could,  which 
wasn't  very. 

There  was  something  about  the  party  that 
made  me  sit  up  on  the  edge  of  my  chair  with 
my  feet  neatly  side  by  side,  and  hold  my  cup 
as  carefully  as  if  I  had  been  at  a  school  treat 


118  CHRISTINE 

and  expecting  the  rector  every  minute.  "Eng- 
land," said  the  pastor,  while  everybody  else 
listened, — he  spoke  in  German — "is,  I  think  I 
may  say,  still  a  great  country." 

"Ja?"  said  I  politely,  tilting  up  the  ja  a  lit- 
tle at  its  end,  which  was  meant  to  suggest  not 
only  a  deferential,  "If  you  say  so  it  must  be  so" 
attitude,  but  also  a  courteous  doubt  as  to 
whether  any  country  could  properly  be  called 
great  in  a  world  in  which  the  standard  of  great- 
ness was  set  by  so  splendid  an  example  of  it  as 
his  own  country. 

And  it  did  suggest  this,  for  he  said,  ''Oh 
dock"  balancing  himself  on  his  heels  and 
toes  alternately,  as  though  balancing  himself 
into  exact  justice.  "Oh  doch.  I  think  one 
may  honestly  say  she  still  is  a  great  country. 
But — "  and  he  raised  his  voice  and  his  fore- 
finger at  me, — "let  her  beware  of  her  money 
bags.  That  is  my  word  to  England;  Beware 
of  thy  money  bags." 

There  was  a  sound  of  approval  in  the  room, 
and  they  all  nodded  their  heads. 

He  looked  at  me,  and  as  I  supposed  he  might 
be  expecting  an  answer  I  thought  I  had  better 
say  ja  again,  so  I  did. 

"England,"  he  then  continued,  "is  our 
cousin,    our   blood-relation.     Therefore   is    it 


CHRISTINE  119 

that  we  can  and  must  tell  her  the  truth,  even 
if  it  is  unpalatable." 

"J a"  I  said,  as  he  paused  again ;  only  there 
were  several  little  things  I  would  have  liked  to 
have  said  about  that,  if  I  had  been  able  to  talk 
German  properly.  But  I  had  nothing  but  my 
list  of  exclamations  and  the  psalms  I  had  learnt 
ready.  So  I  said  J  a,  and  tried  to  look  modest 
and  intelligent. 

"Her  love  of  money,  her  materialism — these 
are  her  great  dangers,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  like 
to  contemplate,  and  I  ask  my  friends  here — " 
he  turned  slowly  round  on  his  heels  and  back 
again — "whether  they  would  like  to  contem- 
plate a  day  when  the  sun  of  the  British  Empire, 
that  Empire  which,  after  all,  has  upheld  the 
cause  of  religion  with  faithfulness  and  per- 
sistence for  so  long,  shall  be  seen  at  last  de- 
scending, to  rise  no  more,  in  an  engulfing  ocean 
of  over-indulged  appetites." 

"J a"  I  said;  and  then  perceiving  it  was  the 
wrong  word,  hastily  amended  in  English,  "I 
mean  nein!' 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  more  care- 
fully. Then  deciding  that  all  was  well  he  went 
on. 

"England,"  he  said,  "is  our  natural  ally. 
She  is  of  the  same  blood,  the  same  faith,  and 


120  CHRISTINE 

the  same  colour.  Behold  the  other  races  of 
the  world,  and  they  are  either  partly,  chiefly, 
or  altogether  black.  The  blonde  races  are,  like 
the  dawn,  destined  to  drive  away  the  darkness. 
They  must  stand  together  shoulder  to  shoulder 
in  any  discord  that  may,  in  the  future,  gash 
the  harmony  of  the  world." 

"Ja"  I  said,  as  one  who  should,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  a  Psalm,  be  saying  Selah. 

"We  live  in  serious  times,"  he  said.  "They 
may  easily  become  more  serious.  Round  us 
stand  the  Latins  and  the  Slavs,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  bursting  with  envy  of  our  goods,  of  our 
proud  calm,  and  watching  for  the  moment  when 
they  can  fall  upon  us  with  criminal  and  mur- 
derous intent.     Is  it  not  so,  my  Fraulein?" 

"Ja''  said  I,  forced  to  agree  because  of  my 
unfortunate  emptiness  of  German. 

The  only  thing  I  could  have  reeled  off  at 
him  was  the  Psalm  I  had  learnt,  and  I  did 
long  to,  because  it  was  the  one  asking  why  the 
heathen  so  furiously  rage  together;  but  you 
see,  little  mother,  though  I  longed  to  I  couldn't 
have  followed  it  up,  and  having  fired  it  off  I'd 
have  sat  there  defenceless  while  he  annihilated 
me. 

But  I  don't  know  what  they  all  mean  by 
this  constant  talk  of  envious  nations  crouching 


CHRISTINE  121 

ready  to  spring  at  them.  They  talk  and  talk 
about  it,  and  their  papers  write  and  write  about 
it,  till  they  inflame  each  other  into  a  fever  of 
pugnaciousness.  I've  never  been  anywhere 
in  the  least  hke  it  in  my  life.  In  England 
people  talked  of  a  thousand  things,  and  hardly 
ever  of  war.  When  we  were  in  Italy,  and  that 
time  in  Paris,  we  hardly  heard  it  mentioned. 
Directly  my  train  got  into  Germany  at  Goch 
coming  from  Flusliing,  and  Germans  began  to 
get  in,  there  in  the  very  train  this  everlasting 
talk  of  war  and  the  enviousness  of  other  na- 
tions began,  and  it  has  never  left  off  since. 
The  Archduke's  murder  didn't  start  it;  it  was 
going  on  weeks  before  that,  when  first  I  came. 
It  has  been  going  on,  Kloster  says,  growing  in 
clamour,  for  years,  ever  since  the  present 
Kaiser  succeeded  to  the  throne.  Kloster  says 
the  nation  thinks  it  feels  all  this,  but  it  is  merely 
being  stage-managed  by  the  group  of  men  at 
the  toj),  headed  by  S.  M.  So  well  stage-man- 
aged is  it,  so  carefully  taught  by  such  slow 
degrees,  that  it  is  absolutely  convinced  it  has 
arrived  at  its  opinions  and  judgments  by  itself. 
I  wonder  if  these  people  arc  mad.  Is  it  possi- 
ble for  a  whole  nation  to  go  mad  at  once?  It 
is  they  who  seem  to  have  the  enviousness,  to  be 
torn  with  desire  to  get  what  isn't  theirs. 


122  CHRISTINE 

"The  disastrous  crime  of  Serajevo,"  con- 
tinued Pastor  Wienicke,  "cannot  in  this  con- 
nection pass  unnoticed.  To  smite  down  a 
GJod's  Anointed!"  He  held  up  his  hands. 
"Not  yet,  it  is  true,  an  actually  Anointed,  but 
set  aside  by  God  for  future  use.  It  is  typical  of 
the  world  outside  our  Fatlierland.  Lawless- 
ness and  its  companion  Sacrilege  stalk  at  large. 
Women  emerge  from  the  seclusion  God  has  ar- 
ranged for  them,  and  rear  their  heads  in  shame- 
less competition  with  men.  Our  rulers,  whom 
God  has  given  us  so  that  they  shall  guide  and 
lead  us  and  in  return  be  reverently  taken  care 
of,  are  blasphemously  bombed."  He  flung 
lx>th  his  arms  heavenwards.  "Arise,  Ger- 
many!" he  cried.  "Arise  and  show  thyself! 
xVrise  in  thy  might,  I  say,  and  let  our  enemies 
be  scattered !" 

Then  he  wiped  his  forehead,  looked  round  in 
recognition  of  the  sehr  guts  and  ausserordent- 
lich  schon  gesagts  that  were  being  flung  about, 
re-lit  his  cigar  with  the  aid  of  the  Herr  Lehrer, 
who  sprang  obsequiously  forward  with  a 
match,  and  sat  down. 

Wasn't  it  a  good  thing  he  sat  down.  I  felt 
so  much  happier.  But  just  as  it  was  at  the 
meals  at  Frau  Berg's  so  it  was  at  the  coffee 
party  here. — I  was  singled  out  and  talked  to, 


CHRISTINE  123 

or  at,  by  the  entire  company.  The  concentra- 
tion of  curiosity  of  Germans  is  terrible.  But 
it's  more  than  curiosity,  it's  a  kind  of  determin- 
ation to  crush  what  I'm  thinking  out  of  me  and 
force  what  they're  thinking  into  me.  I  shall 
see  as  they  do ;  I  shall  think  as  they  do ;  they'll 
shout  at  me  till  I'm  forced  to.  That's  what 
I  feel.  I  don't  a  bit  know  if  it  isn't  quite  a 
wrong  idea  I've  got,  but  somehow  my  yery 
bones  feel  it. 

Would  you  believe  it,  they  stayed  to  supper, 
all  of  them,  and  never  went  away  till  ten 
o'clock.  Frau  Bornsted  says  one  always  does 
that  in  the  countiy  here  when  invited  to  after- 
noon coffee.  I  won't  tell  you  any  more  of  what 
they  said,  because  it  was  all  on  exactly  the 
same  lines,  the  older  men  singling  me  out  one 
by  one  and  very  loudly  telling  me  variations 
of  Pastor  Wienicke's  theme,  the  women  going 
for  me  in  twos  and  threes,  more  definitely 
bloodthirsty  than  the  men,  more  like  Frau  Berg 
on  the  subject  of  blood-letting,  more  openly 
greedy.  They  were  all  disconcerted  and  un- 
easy because  nothing  more  has  been  heard  of 
the  Austrian  assassination.  The  silence  from 
Vienna  worries  them,  I  gatlier,  very  mucli. 
They  are  afraid,  actually  they  are  afraid,  Aus- 
tria may  be  going  to  do  nothing  except  just 


124  CHRISTINE 

punish  the  murderers,  and  so  miss  the  glorious 
opportunity  for  war.  I  wonder  if  you  can  the 
least  realize,  you  sane  mother  in  a  sane  i^lace, 
the  state  they're  in  here,  the  sort  of  boiling  and 
straining.  I'm  sure  the  whole  of  Germany  is 
the  same, — lashed  by  the  few  behind  the  scenes 
into  a  fury  of  aggressive  patriotism.  They 
call  it  patriotism,  but  it  is  j^ust  blood-lust  and 
loot-lust. 

I  helped  Frau  Bornsted  get  supper  ready, 
and  was  glad  to  escape  into  the  peace  of  the 
kitchen  and  stand  safely  frying  potatoes.  She 
was  very  sweet  in  her  demure  Sunday  frock  of 
plain  black,  and  high  up  round  her  ears  a  little 
white  frill.  The  solemnity  and  youth  and 
quaintness  of  her  are  very  attractive,  and  I 
could  easily  love  her  if  it  weren't  for  this  mad- 
ness about  Deutschland.  She  is  as  mad  as  any 
of  them,  and  in  her  it  is  much  more  disconcert- 
ing. We  will  be  discoursing  together  gravely 
*  — she  is  always  grave,  and  never  knows  how 
funny  we  both  are  being  really — about  amus- 
ing things  like  husbands  and  when  and  if  I'm 
ever  going  to  get  one,  and  she,  full  of  the  dig- 
nity and  wisdom  of  the  married,  will  be  giving 
me  much  sage  counsel  with  sobriety  and  gen- 
tleness, when  something  starts  her  off  about 


CHRISTINE  125 

Deutschland.     Oh,  they  are  intolerable  about 
their  Deutschland! 

The  Oberforster  is  calling  for  this — he's 
driving  to  the  post,  so  good-bye  little  darling 
mother,  little  beloved  and  precious  one. 

Your  Chris. 


Schuppenfelde, 
Thursday,  July  16, 1914-. 

My  blessed  mother. 

Here's  Thursday  evening  in  my  week  of 
nothing  to  do,  and  me  meaning  to  write  every 
day  to  you,  and  I  haven't  done  it  since  Mon- 
day. It's  because  I've  had  so  much  time. 
Really  it's  because  I've  been  in  a  sort  of  sleep 
of  loveliness.  I've  been  doing  nothing  except 
be  happy.  Not  a  soul  has  been  near  us  since 
Sunday,  and  Frau  Bornsted  says  not  a  soul 
will,  till  next  Sunday.  Each  morning  I've 
oome  down  to  a  perfect  world,  with  the  sun 
shining  through  roses  on  to  our  breakfast-table 
in  the  porch,  and  after  breakfast  I've  crossed 
the  road  and  gone  into  the  forest  and  not  come 
back  till  late  afternoon. 

Frau  Bornsted  has  been  sweet  about  it,  giv- 
ing me  a  little  parcel  of  food  and  sending  me 
off  with  many  good  wishes  for  a  happy  day.  I 
wanted  to  help  her  do  her  housework,  but  ex- 
cept my  room  she  won't  let  me,  having  had 
orders  from  Kloster  that  I  was  to  be  com- 
pletely idle.  And  it  is  doing  me  good.  I  feel 
so   perfectly   content   these   last   three   days. 


126 


CHRISTINE  127 

There's  nothing  fretful  about  me  any  more ;  I 
feel  harmonized,  as  if  I  were  so  much  a  part  of 
the  light  and  the  air  and  the  forest  that  I  don't 
know  now  where  they  leave  off  and  I  begin.  I 
sit  and  watch  the  fine-weather  clouds  drifting 
slowly  across  the  tree-tops,  and  wonder  if 
heaven  is  any  better.  I  go  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  Haff ,  and  lie  on  my  face  in  the  long  grass, 
and  push  up  mj^  sleeves,  and  slowly  stir  the 
shallow  golden  water  about  among  the  rushes. 
I  pick  wild  strawberries  to  eat  with  my  lunch, 
and  after  lunch  I  lie  on  the  moss  and  learn  the 
Psahn  for  the  day,  first  in  English  and  then 
in  German.  About  five  I  begin  to  go  home, 
walking  slowly  through  the  hot  scents  of  the 
afternoon  forest,  feeling  as  solemn  and  as  ex- 
ulting as  I  suppose  a  Catholic  does  when  he 
comes  away,  shriven  and  blest,  from  confes- 
sion. In  the  evening  we  sit  out,  and  the  little 
garden  grows  every  minute  more  enchanted. 
Frau  Bornsted  rests  after  her  labours,  with 
her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  agrees  with  what  the 
Oberforster  every  now  and  then  takes  his  pipe 
out  of  his  month  to  sny,  and  I  lie  back  in  my 
cliair  and  stare  at  the  stars,  and  I  think  and 
think,  and  wonder  and  wonder.  And  what  do 
you  suppose  I  tliink  and  wonder  al)out,  little 
mother?     You  and  love.     1  don't  know  why 


128  CHRISTINE 

I  say  you  and  love,  for  it's  the  same  thing. 
And  so  is  all  this  beauty  of  summer  in  the 
woods,  and  so  is  music,  and  my  violin  when  it 
gets  playing  to  me ;  and  the  future  is  full  of  it, 
and  oh,  I  do  so  badly  want  to  say  thank  you 
to  some  one! 

Good  night  my  most  precious  mother. 

Your  Chris. 


'Scliuppenfelde, 
Fiidaij,  July  17, 19  U, 

This  morning  when  I  came  down  to  break- 
fast, sweet  mother,  there  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
was  Herr  von  Inster.  He  didn't  say  anything, 
but  watched  me  coming  down  with  the  con- 
tented look  he  has  I  hke  so  much.  I  was 
frightfully  pleased  to  see  him,  and  smiled  all 
over  myself.  *'0h,"  I  exclaimed,  "so  you've 
come." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  helped  me  down 
the  last  steps.  He  was  in  green  shooting 
clothes,  like  the  Oberforster's,  but  without  the 
official  buttons,  and  looked  very  nice.  You'd 
like  him,  I'm  sure.  You'd  like  what  he  looks 
like,  and  like  what  he  is. 

He  had  been  in  the  forest  since  four  this 
morning,  shooting  witli  his  colonel,  who  came 
down  witli  him  to  Koseritz  last  night.  The 
colonel  and  Graf  Koseritz,  who  came  down 
from  Berlin  with  them,  were  both  breakfast- 
ing, attended  by  the  liornsteds,  and  it  sliows 
how  soundly  I  sleep  here  that  I  hadn't  heard 
anything. 

129 


130  CHRISTINE 

"And  aren't  you  having  any  breakfast?"  I 
asked. 

"I  will  now,"  he  said.  "I  was  listening  for 
your  door  to  open." 

I  think  you'd  like  hini  very  much,  little 
mother. 

The  colonel,  whose  name  is  Graf  Hohenfeld, 
was  being  very  pleasant  to  Frau  Bornsted, 
watching  her  admiringly  as  she  brought  him 
things  to  eat.  He  was  very  pleasant  to  me 
too,  and  got  up  and  put  his  heels  together  and 
said,  "Old  England  for  ever"  when  I  appeared, 
and  asked  the  Graf  whether  Frau  Bornsted 
and  I  didn't  remind  him  of  a  nosegay  of  flow- 
ers. Obviously  we  didn't.  The  Graf  doesn't 
look  as  if  anybody  ever  reminded  him  of  any- 
thing. He  greeted  me  briefly,  and  then  sat 
staring  abstractedly  at  the  tablecloth,  as  he  did 
in  Berlin.  The  Colonel  did  all  the  talking. 
Both  he  and  the  Graf  had  on  those  pretty  green 
shooting  things  they  wear  in  Germany,  with 
the  becoming  soft  hats  and  little  feathers.  He 
was  very  jovial  indeed,  seemed  fond  and  proud 
of  his  lieutenant,  Herr  von  Inster,  slapped  the 
Oberforster  every  now  and  then  on  the  back, 
which  made  him  nearly  faint  with  joy  each 
time,  and  wished  it  weren't  breakfast  and  only 
coffee,  because  he  would  have  liked  to  drink  our 


CHRISTINE  131 

healths,— "The  healths  of  these  two  delightful 
young  ros€S,"  he  said,  howing  to  Frau  Born- 
sted  and  me,  "the  Rose  of  England — long  live 
England,  which  produces  such  flowers — and 
the  Rose  of  Germany,  our  own  wild  forest 
rose." 

I  laughed,  and  Frau  Bornsted  looked  se- 
dately indulgent, — I  suppose  because  he  is  a 
great  man,  this  staff  officer,  who  helps  work 
out  all  the  wonderful  plans  that  are  some  day 
to  make  Germany  able  to  conquer  the  world; 
but,  as  she  explained  to  me  the  other  day  when 
I  said  something  about  her  eyelashes  being 
so  long  and  pretty,  prettiness  is  out  of  place  in 
her  position,  and  she  prefers  it  not  mentioned. 
"What  has  the  wife  of  an  Oberforster  to  do 
with  prettiness?"  she  asked.  "It  is  good  for 
a  jungcs  Mddcheii,  wlio  has  still  to  find  a  hus- 
band, but  once  she  has  him  why  be  pretty  ?  To 
])e  pretty  when  you  are  a  married  woman  is 
only  an  undcsirabilily.  It  exposes  one  easily 
to  comment,  and  might  cause,  if  one  had  not  a 
solid  character,  an  cver-afterwards-to-be-re- 
grettcd  expenditure  on  clotlies." 

The  men  were  going  to  shoot  with  the  Ober- 
forster after  breakfast  and  be  all  day  in  the 
forest,  and  tlie  Colonel  was  going  back  to 
Berlin  by  the  night  train.     He  said  he  was 


132  CHRISTINE 

leaving  his  lieutenant  at  Ivoseritz  for  a  few 
days,  but  that  he  himself  had  to  get  back  into 
harness  at  once, — "While  the  young  one  plays 
around,"  he  said,  slapping  Herr  von  Inster  on 
the  back  this  time  instead  of  the  Oberforster, 
"among  the  varied  and  delightful  flora  of  our 
old  German  forests.  Here  tliis  nosegay,"  he 
said,  sweeping  his  arm  in  our  direction,  "and 
there  at  Koseritz — "  sweeping  his  arm  in  the 
other  direction,  "a  nosegay  no  less  charming 
but  more  hot-house, — the  schone  Helena  and 
her  young  lady  friends." 

I  asked  Herr  von  Inster  after  breakfast, 
when  we  were  alone  for  a  moment  in  the  gar- 
den, what  his  Colonel  was  like  after  dinner,  if 
even  breakfast  made  him  so  jovial. 

"He  is  very  clever,"  he  said.  "He  is  one 
of  our  cleverest  officers  on  the  Staff,  and  this 
is  how  he  hides  it." 

"Oh,"  I  said;  for  I  thought  it  a  funny  ex- 
planation.    Why  hide  it? 

Perhaps  that  is  what's  the  matter  with  the 
Graf, — he's  hiding  how  clever  he  is. 

But  that  Colonel  certainly  does  seem  clever. 
He  asked  where  we  hve  in  England;  a  poser, 
rather,  considering  we  don't  at  present  live  at 
all;  but  I  told  him  where  we  did  live,  when 
Dad  was  ahve. 


CHRISTINE  133 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  is  in  Sussex.  Very 
pretty  just  there.  Which  house  was  your 
liome?" 

I  stared  a  httle,  for  it  seemed  waste  of  time 
to  describe  it,  but  I  said  it  was  an  old  house  on 
an  open  green. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  nodding,  "on  the  common. 
A  very  nice,  roomy  old  house,  with  good  out- 
buildings. But  why  do  you  not  straighten 
out  those  corners  on  the  road  to  Petworth? 
They  are  death  traps." 

"You've  been  there,  then?"  I  said,  astonished 
at  the  extreme  smallness  of  the  world. 

"Never,"  he  said,  laughing.  "But  I  study. 
We  study,  don't  we,  Inster  my  boy,  at  the  old 
General  Staff.  And  tell  your  Sussex  County 
Council,  beautiful  English  lady,  to  straighten 
out  those  corners,  for  they  are  very  awkward 
indeed,  and  might  easily  cause  serious  acci- 
dents some  day  when  the  roads  have  to  be  used 
for  real  traffic." 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,"  I  said  politely,  "to 
take  such  an  interest  in  us." 

"I  not  only  take  the  greatest  interest  in  you, 
charming  young  lady,  and  in  your  country,  but 
I  have  an  orderly  mind  and  would  be  really 
pleased  to  see  those  corners  straightened  out. 
Use  your  influence,  which  I  am  sure  must  be 


134.  CHRISTINE 

great,  with  that  shortsighted  body  of  gentle- 
men, your  County  Council." 

*'I  shall  not  fail,"  I  said,  more  politely  than 
ever,  "to  inform  them  of  your  wishes." 

"Ah,  but  she  is  delightful, — delightful,  your 
little  Engldnderinf'  he  said  gaily  to  Frau 
Bornsted,  who  listened  to  his  badinage  with 
grave  and  respectful  indulgence ;  and  he  said  a 
lot  more  things  about  England  and  its  products 
and  exports,  meaning  compliments  to  me — 
what  can  he  be  like  after  dinner? — and  went 
off,  jovial  to  the  last,  clicking  his  heels  and 
kissing  first  Frau  Bornsted's  hand  and  then 
mine,  in  spite,  as  he  explained,  of  its  being 
against  the  rules  to  kiss  the  hand  of  a  junges 
Mddchen,  but  his  way  was  never  to  take  any 
notice  of  rules,  he  said,  if  they  got  between 
him  and  a  charming  young  lady.  And  so  he 
went  oiF,  waving  his  green  hat  to  us  and  calling 
out  Auf  Wiedersehen  till  the  forest  engulfed 
him. 

Herr  von  Inster  and  the  Graf  went  too,  but 
quietly.  The  Graf  went  exceedingly  quietly. 
He  hadn't  said  a  word  to  anybody,  as  far  as  I 
could  see,  and  no  rallyings  on  the  part  of  the 
Colonel  could  make  him.  He  didn't  even  re- 
act to  being  told  what  I  gather  is  the  German 
equivalent  for  a  sly  dog. 


CHRISTINE  135 

Herr  von  Inster  said,  when  he  could  get  a 
word  in,  that  he  is  coming  over  to-morrow  to 
drive  me  about  the  forest.  His  attitude  while 
his  Colonel  rattled  on  was  very  interesting:  his 
punctilious  attention,  his  apparent  obligation 
to  smile  when  there  were  sallies  demanding 
that  form  of  appreciation,  his  carefulness  not 
to  miss  any  indication  of  a  wish. 

"Why  do  you  do  it?"  I  asked,  when  the 
Colonel  was  engaged  for  a  moment  with  the 
Oberforster  indoors.  "Isn't  your  military 
service  enough  ?  Are  you  drilled  even  to  your 
smiles?" 

"To  everything,'*  he  said.  "Including  our 
enthusiasms.  We're  like  the  claque  at  a  the- 
atre." 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  those 
kind,  sur2)rising  eyes  of  his, — they're  so  reas- 
suring, somehow,  after  his  stern  profile — and 
said,  "To-morrow  I  shall  be  a  human  being 
again,  and  forget  all  this, — forget  everything 
except  the  beautiful  things  of  life." 

Now  I  must  leave  off,  because  I  want  to  iron 
out  my  white  linen  skirt  and  muslin  blouse  for 
to-morrow,  as  it's  sure  to  be  hot  and  I  may 
as  well  look  as  clean  as  T  can,  so  good-bye  dar- 
ling little  mother.  Oh,  1  forgot  to  say  how 
glad  I  am  you  like  being  at  Glion.     I  did 


136  CHRISTINE 

mean  to  answer  a  great  many  things  in  your 
last  letter,  my  little  loved  one,  but  I  will  to- 
morrow. It  isn't  that  I  don't  read  and  re- 
read your  darling  letters,  it's  that  one  has  such 
heaps  to  say  oneself  to  you.  Each  time  I 
write  to  you  I  seem  to  empty  the  whole  con- 
tents of  the  days  I've  lived  since  I  last  wrote 
into  your  lap.  But  to-morrow  I'll  answer  all 
your  questions, — to-morrow  evening,  after  my 
day  with  Herr  von  Inster,  then  I  can  tell  you 
all  about  it. 

Good-bye  till  then,  sweet  mother. 

Your  Chris. 


Koseritz, 

Saturday  everting,  'July  18,  1914. 
My  darling  little  mother, 

See  where  I've  got  to !  Who'd  have  thought 
it?  Life  is  really  very  exciting,  isn't  it.  The 
Grafin  drove  over  to  Schuppenfelde  this  after- 
noon, and  took  me  away  with  her  here.  She 
said  Kloster  was  coming  for  Smiday  from 
Heringsdorf  to  them,  and  she  knew  he  would 
want  to  see  me  and  would  go  off  to  the  Ober- 
forsterei  after  me  and  leave  her  by  herself  if  I 
were  at  the  Bornsteds',  and  anyhow  she  wanted 
to  see  something  of  me  before  I  went  back  to 
Berlin,  and  I  couldn't  refuse  to  give  an  old 
lady — she  isn't  a  bit  old — pleasure,  and  heaps 
of  gracious  things  like  that.  Ilerr  von  Inster 
had  brought  a  note  from  her  in  the  morning, 
preparing  my  mind,  and  added  his  persuasions 
to  hers.  Not  that  I  wanted  persuading, — I 
thought  it  a  heavenly  idea,  and  didn't  even 
mind  Helena,  because  I  felt  that  in  a  big  house 
there'd  be  more  room  for  her  to  stare  at  me  in. 
And  Herr  von  Inster  is  going  to  stay  another 
week,  taking  his  summer  leave  now  instead  of 

137 


138  CHRISTINE 

later,  and  he  says  he  will  see  me  safe  to  Berlin 
when  I  go  next  Saturda5\ 

So  we  had  the  happiest  morning  wandering 
about  the  forest,  he  driving  and  letting  the 
horses  go  as  slowly  as  they  liked  while  we 
talked,  and  after  our  sandwiches  he  took  me 
back  to  the  Bornsteds,  and  I  showed  Frau 
Bornsted  the  Grafin's  letter. 

If  it  hadn't  been  a  Koseritz  taking  me  away 
she  would  have  been  dreadfully  offended  at 
my  wanting  to  go  when  only  half  my  fort- 
night was  over,  but  it  was  like  a  royal 
command  to  her,  and  she  looked  at  me 
with  greatly  increased  interest  as  the  ob- 
ject of  these  high  attentions.  She  had  been 
inclined  to  warn  me  j'.yainst  Herr  von  Inster 
as  a  person  removed  by  birth  from  my  sphere 
— I  suppose  that's  because  I  play  the  violin — 
and  also  against  drives  in  forests  generally  if 
the  parties  were  both  unmarried;  and  she  had 
been  extraordinarily  dignified  when  I  laughed, 
and  had  told  me  it  v/as  all  very  well  for  me  to 
laugh,  being  only  an  ignorant  junges  Mdd- 
chen,  but  she  doubted  whether  my  mother 
would  laugh;  and  she  watched  our  departure 
for  our  picnic  \tvy  stiffly  and  unsmilingly 
from  the  porch.  But  after  reading  the  Graf- 
m's  letter  I  was  treated  more  nearly  as  an 


CHRISTINE  139 

equal,  and  she  became  all  interest  and  co-oper- 
ation. She  helped  me  pack,  while  Herr  von 
Inster,  who  has  a  great  gift  for  quiet  patience, 
waited  downstairs;  and  she  told  me  how  for- 
tunate I  was  to  be  going  to  spend  some  days 
with  Komtesse  Helena,  from  whom  I  could 
learn,  she  said,  what  the  real  perfect  jungcs 
Mddchen  was  like;  and  by  the  time  the  Griifin 
herself  drove  up  in  her  little  carriage  with  the 
pretty  white  ponies,  she  was  so  much  melted 
and  stirred  by  a  house-guest  of  hers  being  sin- 
gled out  for  such  an  honour  that  she  put  her 
arm  round  my  neck  when  I  said  good-bye,  and 
whispered  that  though  it  wasn't  really  fit  for 
a  jiinges  Mddchen  to  hear,  she  must  tell  me,  as 
she  probably  wouldn't  see  me  again,  that  she 
hoped  shortly  after  Christmas  to  enrich  the 
world  by  yet  one  more  German. 

I  laughed  and  kissed  her. 

"It  is  no  laughing  matter,"  she  said,  with 
solemn  eyes. 

"Xo,"  I  said,  suddenly  solemn  ton,  remem- 
bering how  A^^iitha  Trent  died. 

And  I  tor-]:  her  face  in  both  ivr  <  and 

kissed  her  a'^iin,  but  with  the  .s'  s  of 

a  parting  ])Icssing.     For  all  her  ,  she 

has  to  reach  up  to  me  when  I  kiss  litr. 

She  put  my  hair  tidy  with  a  gentle  hand, 


140  CHRISTINE 

and  said,  "You  are  not  at  all  what  a  jhtnges 
Mddchen  generally  is,  but  you  are  very  nice. 
Please  wish  that  my  child  may  be  a  boy,  so  that 
I  shall  become  the  mother  of  a  soldier." 

I  kissed  her  again,  and  got  out  of  it  that  way, 
for  I  don't  wish  anything  of  the  sort,  and  with 
that  we  parted. 

Meanwhile  the  Grafin  had  been  sitting 
very  firmly  in  her  carriage,  having  refused 
all  Frau  Bornsted's  entreaties  to  come  ui.  It 
was  wonderful  to  see  how  affable  she  was  and 
yet  how  firm,  and  wonderful  to  see  the  gulf  her 
afFabihty  put  between  the  Bornsteds — he  was 
at  the  gate  too,  bowing — and  herself. 

And  now  here  I  am,  and  it's  past  eleven,  and 
my  window  opens  right  on  to  the  Haff,  and 
far  away  across  the  water  I  can  see  the  lights 
of  Swinemiinde  twinkhng  where  the  Haff 
joins  the  open  sea.  It  is  a  most  beautiful  old 
'house,  centuries  old,  and  we  had  a  romantic 
evening, — first  at  supper  in  a  long  narrow  pan- 
nelled  room  lit  by  candles,  and  then  on  the 
terrace  beneath  my  window,  where  larkspurs 
grow  against  the  low  wall  along  the  water's 
edge.  There  is  nobody  here  except  the  Koser- 
itzes,  and  Herr  von  Inster,  and  two  girl-friends 
of  Helena's,  very  pretty  and  smart-looking, 
and  an  old  lady  who  was  once  the  Griifin's  gov- 


CHRISTINE  141 

emness  and  comes  here  every  summer  to  en- 
joy what  she  called,  speaking  Enghsh  to  me, 
the  Summer  Fresh. 

It  was  like  a  dream.  The  water  made  lovely 
little  soft  noises  along  the  wall  of  the  terrace. 
It  was  so  still  that  we  could  hear  the  throb  of  a 
steamer  far  away  on  the  Haff,  crossmg  from 
Stettin  to  Swinemunde.  The  Graf,  as  usual, 
said  nothing, — "He  has  much  to  think  of,"  the 
Grafin  whispered  to  me.  The  girls  talked  to- 
gether in  undertones,  whicli  v/ould  have  made 
me  feel  shy  and  out  of  it  if  I  hadn't  somehow 
not  minded  a  bit,  and  they  did  look  exactly 
what  the  Colonel  had  said  they  were,  in 
their  pale  evening  frocks, — a  nosega}'^  of  very 
delicate  and  well  cared-for  hothouse  flowers. 
I  had  on  my  evening  frock  for  the  first  time 
since  I  left  England,  and  after  the  weeks  of 
high  blouses  felt  conspicuously  and  terribly 
overdressed  up  in  my  bedroom  and  till  I  saw 
tbe  frocks  the  others  liad  on,  and  then  I  felt 
the  exact  opj)osite.  Ilcrr  von  Inster  hardly 
spoke,  and  not  to  me  at  all,  but  I  didn't  mind, 
I  had  so  much  in  my  head  that  he  had  talked 
a})f)ut  this  morning.  I  feci  so  completely  nat- 
ural with  him,  so  content;  and  T  think  it  is  be- 
cause he  is  here  at  KcJseritz  that  I'm  so  comfort- 
able, and  not  in  the  least  shv,  as  I  wms  that 


142  CHRISTINE 

day  at  luncheon.  I  simply  take  things  as  they 
come,  and  don't  think  about  myself  at  all. 
When  I  came  down  to  supper  to-night  he  was 
waiting  in  the  hall,  to  show  me  the  way,  he 
said;  and  he  watched  me  coming  down  the 
stairs  with  that  look  in  his  eyes  that  is  such  a 
contrast  to  the  smart,  alert  efficiency  of  his  fig- 
ure and  manner, — it  is  so  gentle,  so  kind.  I 
went  into  the  room  where  they  all  were  with  a 
funny  feeling  of  being  safe.  I  don't  even 
know  whether  Helena  stared. 

To-morrow  the  Klosters  come  over,  and  are 
going  to  stay  the  night,  and  to-morrow  I  may 
play  my  fiddle  again.  I've  faithfully  kept  my 
promise  and  not  touched  it.  Really,  as  it's  a 
quarter  to  twelve  now  and  at  midnight  m^y 
week's  fasting  will  be  over,  I  might  begin  and 
play  it  quite  soon.  I  wonder  what  would  hap- 
pen if  I  sat  on  my  window-sill  and  played 
Ravel  to  the  larkspurs  and  the  stars!  I  be- 
lieve it  would  make  even  the  Graf  say  some- 
thing. But  I  won't  do  anything  so  unhke,  as 
Frau  Bornsted  would  say,  what  a  junges  Mdd- 
chen  generally  does,  but  go  to  bed  instead,  into 
the  prettiest  bed  I've  slept  in  since  I  had  a 
frilly  cot  in  the  nursery, — all  pink  silk  coverlet 
and  lace-edged  sheets.  The  room  is  just  like 
an  English  country-house  bedroom ;  in  fact  the 


CHRISTINE  143 

Grafin  told  me  she  got  all  her  chintzes  in  Lon- 
don! It's  so  funny  after  my  room  at  Frau 
Berg's,  and  my  little  impainted  wooden  attic 
at  the  Oberforsterei. 

Good  night,  my  blessed  mother.  There  are 
two  owls  somewhere  calling  to  each  other  in  the 
forest.  Not  another  sound.  Such  utter 
peace. 

Youif  Oris. 


Koseritz, 
Sunday  evening,  July  19,  1914. 
My  own  darling  mother, 

I  don't  know  what  you'll  say,  but  I'm  en- 
gaged to  Eernd.  That's  Herr  von  Inster. 
You  know  his  name  is  Bernd?  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  it  myself.  I  can't  quite  believe 
it.  This  time  last  night  I  was  writing  to  you 
in  this  very  room,  with  no  thought  of  anything 
in  the  world  but  just  ordinary  happiness  with 
kind  friends  and  one  specially  kind  and  un- 
derstanding friend,  and  here  I  am  twenty-four 
hours  later  done  with  ordinary  happiness, 
taken  into  my  lover's  heart  for  ever. 

It  was  so  strange.  I  don't  believe  any  girl 
ever  got  engaged  in  quite  that  way  before. 
I'm  sure  everybody  thinks  we're  insane,  except 
Kloster.     Kloster  doesn't.     He  understands. 

It  was  after  supper.  Only  three  hours  ago. 
I  wonder  if  it  wasn't  a  dream.  We  were  all  on 
the  terrace,  as  we  were  last  night.  The  Klos- 
ters  had  come  early  in  the  afternoon.  There 
wasn't  a  leaf  stirring,  and  not  a  sound  except 
that  lapping  water  against  the  bottom  of  the 
Mali  where  the  larkspurs  are.     You  know  how 

144 


CHRISTINE  145 

sometimes  when  everybody  has  been  talking 
together  without  stopping  there's  a  sudden 
hush.  That  happened  to-night,  and  after  what 
seemed  a  long  while  of  silence  the  Grafin  said 
to  Kloster,  "I  suppose,  jMaster,  it  would  be 
too  much  to  ask  you  to  play  to  us?" 

"Here?"  he  said.     "Out  here?" 

"Why  not?"  she  said. 

I  hung  breathless  on  what  he  would  say. 
Suppose  he  played,  out  there  in  the  dusk,  with 
the  s-tars  and  the  water  and  the  forest  aU 
round  us,  what  would  it  be  like? 

He  got  up  without  a  word  and  went  indoors. 

The  Grafin  looked  uneasy.  "I  hope,"  she 
said  to  Frau  Kloster,  "my  asking  has  not  of- 
fended him?" 

But  Ilernd  knew — Eernd,  still  at  that  mo- 
ment only  Ilerr  von  Inster  for  me.  "He  is 
going  to  play,"  he  said. 

And  presently  he  came  out  again  with  his 
Strad,  and  standing  on  the  step  outside  tlie 
dravvingroom  window  he  played. 

I  thought,  This  is  the  most  wonderful  mo- 
ment of  my  life.  I3ut  it  wasn't;  there  was  a 
more  wonderful  one  coming. 

We  sat  tlicrc  in  the  great  brooding  night, 
and  the  music  told  us  the  things  about  love 
and  God  tliat  we  know  but  can  never  say. 


UG  CHRISTINE 

When  he  had  done  nobod}^  spoke.  He  stood 
on  the  step  for  a  minute  in  silence,  then  he 
came  down  to  where  I  was  sitting  on  the  low 
wall  by  the  water  and  put  the  Strad  into  my 
hands.     "Now  you,"  he  said. 

Nobody  spoke.  I  felt  as  though  I  were 
asleep. 

He  took  my  hand  and  made  me  stand  up. 
"Pla}'-  what  you  like,"  he  said;  and  left  me 
there,  and  went  and  sat  down  again  on  the  steps 
by  the  window. 

I  don't  know  what  I  played.  It  was  the 
violin  that  played  while  I  held  it  and  listened. 
I  forgot  everybody, — forgot  Kloster  critically 
noting  what  I  did  wrong,  and  forgot,  so  com- 
pletely that  I  might  have  been  unconscious, 
myself.  I  was  listening;  and  what  I  heard 
were  secrets,  secrets  strange  and  exquisite ;  no- 
ble, and  so  courageous  that  suffering  didn't 
matter,  didn't  touch, — all  the  secrets  of  life.  I 
can't  explain.  It  wasn't  like  anything  one 
knows  really.  It  was  like  something  very  im- 
portant, very  beautiful  that  one  used  to  know, 
but  has  forgotten. 

Pl-esently  the  sounds  left  off,  I  didn't  feel 
as  though  I  had  had  anything  to  do  with  their 
leaving  off.  There  was  dead  silence.  I  stood 
wondering  rather  confusedly,  as  one  wonders 


CHRISTINE  147 

when  fii-st  one  wakes  from  a  dream  and  sees 
familiar  things  again  and  doesn't  quite  mider- 
stand. 

Kloster  got  up  and  came  and  took  the  Strad 
from  me.  I  could  see  his  face  in  the  dusk, 
and  thought  it  looked  queer.  He  lifted  up  my 
hands  one  after  the  other,  and  kissed  them. 

But  Bernd  got  up  from  where  he  was  sitting 
away  from  the  others,  and  took  me  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  my  eyes. 

And  that's  hoAv  we  were  engaged.  I  think 
they  said  something.  I  don't  know  what  it 
was,  but  there  was  a  murmur,  but  I  seemed 
very  far  away  and  very  safe;  and  he  turned 
round  wlien  they  murmured,  and  took  my 
hand,  said  said,  "This  is  my  wife."  And  he 
looked  at  me  and  said,  "Is  it  not  so?"  And 
I  said  "Yes."  And  I  don't  remember  what 
happened  next,  and  perhaps  it  was  all  a  dream. 
I'm  so  tired, — so  tired  and  heavj'^  witli  happi- 
ness that  I  could  drop  in  a  heap  on  tlie  floor  and 
go  to  sleep  like  that.  Beloved  mother — bless 
your  Chris. 


Koseritz,  Monday,  July  ISO, 
My  own  darling  mother, 

I'm  too  happy, — too  happy  to  write,  or 
think,  or  remember,  or  do  anything  except 
be  happy.  You'll  forgive  me,  my  own 
ever-understanding  mother,  because  the  min- 
utes I  have  to  take  for  other  things  seem  so 
snatched  away  and  lost,  snatched  from  the 
real  thing,  the  one  real  thing,  which  is  my 
lover.  Oh,  I  expect  I'm  shameless,  and  I 
don't  care.  Ought  I  to  simper,  and  pretend 
I  don't  feel  particularly  much?  Be  ladylike, 
and  hide  how  I  adore  him?  Telegraph  to  me 
' — telegraph  your  blessing.  I  must  be  blessed 
by  you.  Till  I  have  been,  it's  like  not  having 
liad  my  crown  put  on,  and  standing  waiting, 
all  ready  in  my  beautiful  clothes  of  happiness 
except  for  that.  I  don't  care  if  I'm  silly.  I 
don't  care  about  anything.  I  don't  know 
what  they  think  of  our  engagement  here.  I 
imagine  they  deplore  it  on  Bernd's  accomit, — 
he's  an  officer  and  a  Junker  and  an  only  son 
and  a  person  of  promise,  and  altogether  heaps 
of   important   things    besides    the   important 

148 


CHRISTINE  149 

thing,  which  is  that  he's  Bernd.  And  you  see, 
little  mother,  I'm  only  a  woman  who  is  going 
to  have  a  profession,  and  that's  an  impossible 
thing  from  the  Junker  point  of  view.  It's 
queer  how  nothing  matters,  no  criticism  or  dis- 
approval, how  one  can't  be  touched  directly 
one  loves  somebody  and  is  loved  back.  It  is 
like  being  inside  a  magic  ring  of  safety.  Why, 
I  don't  think  that  there's  anytliing  that  could 
hurt  me  so  long  as  we  love  each  other.  We've 
had  a  wonderful  morning  walking  in  the  for- 
est. It's  all  quite  true  what  happened  last 
night.  It  wasn't  a  dream.  We  are  engaged. 
I've  hardly  seen  the  others.  They  congratu- 
lated us  quite  politely.  Kloster  was  very 
kind,  but  anxious  lest  I  should  let  love,  as  he 
says,  spoil  art.  We  laughed  at  that.  Bernd, 
who  would  have  been  a  musician  but  for  his 
family  and  his  obligations,  is  going  to  be  it 
vicariously  tlirough  me.  I  shall  work  all  tlie 
harder  with  him  to  help  me.  How  right  you 
were  about  a  lover  being  the  best  of  all  tilings 
in  the  world!  I  don't  know  how  anyl)ody  gets 
on  without  one.  I  can't  think  how  /  did.  It 
amazes  me  to  remember  that  I  used  to  think  I 
was  happy.  Bless  inc,  little  mother — bless  us. 
Send  a  telegram.     I  can't  wait. 

Your  Chris. 


KoseritZy  Thursday,  July  28. 
My  own  mother, 

Thank  you  so  much  for  your  telegram  of 
blessing,  darling  one,  which  I  have  just  had. 
It  seems  to  set  the  seal  of  happiness  on  me.  I 
know  you  will  love  Bernd,  and  understand  di- 
rectly you  see  him  why  I  do.  We  are  so  placid 
here  these  beautiful  summer  days.  Every- 
body accepts  us  now  resignedly  as  a  fait  ac- 
compli, and  though  they  remain  unenthusiastic 
they  are  polite  and  tolerant.  And  whenever 
I  play  to  them  they  all  grow  kind.  It's  rather 
like  being  Orpheus  with  his  lute,  and  they  the 
mountain  tops  that  freeze.  I've  discovered  I 
can  melt  them  by  just  making  music.  Helena 
really  does  love  music.  It  was  quite  true  what 
her  mother  said.  Since  I  played  that  first 
wonderful  night  of  my  engagement  she  has 
been  quite  different  to  me.  She  still  is  silent, 
because  that's  her  nature,  and  she  still  stares; 
but  now  she  stares  in  a  sort  of  surprise,  with 
a  question  in  her  eyes.  And  wherever  she  may 
be  in  the  house  or  garden,  if  she  hears  me  be- 

150 


CHRISTINE  151 

ginning  to  play  she  creeps  near  on  tiptoe  and 
listens. 

Kloster  has  gone.  He  and  his  wife  were 
both  very  kind  to  us,  but  Kloster  is  worried 
because  I've  fallen  in  love.  I'm  not  to  go 
back  to  Berlin  till  Monday,  as  Bernd  can  stay 
on  here  till  then,  and  there's  no  point  in  spend- 
ing a  Sunday  in  Berlin  unless  one  has  to. 
Kloster  is  going  to  give  me  three  lessons  a 
week  instead  of  two,  and  I  shall  work  now 
with  such  renewed  delight !  He  says  I  won't, 
but  I  know  better.  Everything  I  do  seems 
to  be  touched  now  with  delight.  How  funny 
that  room  at  I'rau  Berg's  will  look  and  feel 
after  being  here.  But  I  don't  mind  going 
back  to  it  one  little  half  a  scrap.  Bernd  will 
be  in  Berlin ;  he'll  be  writing  to  me,  seeing  pie, 
walking  with  me.  With  him  there  it  will  be, 
every  bit  of  it,  perfect. 

"When  I  come  back  to  town  in  October," 
the  Griifin  said  to  me,  "3'ou  must  stay  witli 
us.  It  is  not  fitting  that  Bernd's  betrotlied 
sliould  live  in  tliat  boarding-house  of  Fran 
Berg's.     Will  not  your  mother  soon  join  you  V 

It  is  very  kind  of  her,  I  think.  It  appear.^ 
that  a  girl  who  is  engaged  has  to  be  chai)eroned 
even  more  than  a  girl  who  isn't.  What  funny 
ancient  stuff  tlicsc  conventions  are.     I  wonder 


152  CHRISTINE 

how  long  more  we  shall  have  of  them.  Of 
course  Frau  Berg  and  her  boarders  are  to  the 
Junker  dreadful  beyond  words. 

But  her  question  about  you  set  me  thinking. 
Won't  you  come,  little  mother  ?  As  it  is  such  an 
unusual  and  never-to-be-repeated  occurrence 
in  our  family  that  its  one  and  only  child  should 
be  going  to  marry  ?  And  yet  I  can't  quite  see 
you  in  August  in  lodgings  in  Berlin,  come 
down  from  your  beautiful  mountain,  away 
from  your  beautiful  lake.  After  all,  I've  only 
got  four  more  months  of  it,  and  then  I'm  fin- 
ished and  can  go  back  to  you.  What  is  going 
to  happen  then,  exactly,  I  don't  know.  Bernd 
says.  Marry,  and  that  you'll  come  and  live 
with  us  in  Germany.  That's  all  very  well,  but 
what  about,  if  I  marry  so  soon,  starting  my 
public  career,  which  was  to  have  begun  this 
next  winter?  Kloster  says  impatiently.  Oh 
marry,  and  get  done  with  it,  and  that  then 
I'll  be  sensible  again  and  able  to  arrange  my 
debut  as  a  violinist  with  the  calm,  I  gather  he 
thinks,  of  the  disillusioned. 

"I'm  perfectly  sensible,"  I  said. 

"You  are  not.  You  are  in  love.  A  woman 
should  never  be  an  artist.  Again  I  say,  Mees 
Chrees,  what  I  have  said  to  you  before,  that  it 
is  sheer  malice  on  the  part  of  Providence  to 


CHRISTINE  153 

have  taken  you,  a  woman,  as  the  vessel  which 
is  to  carry  this  great  gift  about  the  world.  A 
man,  gifted  to  the  extent  you  so  unluckilj^ 
are,  falls  in  love  and  is  inspired  by  it.  Indeed, 
it  is  in  that  condition  that  he  does  his  best 
work ;  which  is  why  the  man  artist  is  so  seldom 
a  faithful  husband,  for  the  faithful  husband  is 
precluded  from  being  in  love." 

"Why  can't  he  be  in  love?"  I  asked,  hus- 
bands now  having  become  very  interesting  to 
me. 

"Because  he  is  a  faithful  husband." 
"But  he  can  be  in  love  with  his  wife." 
"No,"  said  Kloster,  "he  cannot.     And  he 
cannot  for  the  same  reason  tliat  no  man  can 
go   on  wanting  his   dinner  who  has  had   it. 
Whereas,"  he  went  on  louder,  because  I  had 
opened  my  moutli  and  was  going  to  say  some- 
thing, "a  woman  artist  who  falls  in  love  neg- 
lects  everything   and   merely   loves.     Merely 
loves,"  he  repeated,  looking  me  up  and  down 
with  great  severity  and  disfavour. 
"You'll  sec  how  I'll  work,"  I  said. 
"Nonsense,"  he  said,  waving  tliat  aside  im- 
j)atiently.     "Which  is  why,"  he  continued,  "I 
urge  you  to  marry  quickly.     Then  the  woman, 
so  unfortunately  singled  out  by  Providence  to 
be  something  she  is  not  fitted  for,  having  mar- 


154,  CHRISTINE 

ried  aiid  secured  her  husband,  prey,  victim,  or 
whatever  you  prefer  to  call  him — " 

"I  prefer  to  call  him  husband,"  I  said. 

" — if  she  succeeds  in  steering  clear  of  de- 
taining and  delaymg  objects  like  cradles,  is 
cured  and  can  go  back  with  proper  serenity  to 
that  which  alone  matters.  Art  and  the  work 
necessary  to  produce  it.  But  she  will  have 
wasted  time,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "She 
will  most  sadly  have  wasted  time." 

In  my  turn  I  said  Nonsense,  and  laughed 
with  that  heavenly,  glorious  security  one  has 
when  one  has  a  lover. 

I  expect  there  are  some  people  who  may 
be  as  Kloster  says,  but  we're  not  like  them, 
Bernd  and  I.  We're  not  going  to  waste  a 
minute.  He  adores  my  music,  and  his  pride 
in  it  inspires  me  and  makes  me  glow  with 
longing  to  do  better  and  better  for  his  sake, 
so  as  to  see  him  moved,  to  see  him  with 
that  dear  look  of  happy  triumph  in  his  eyes. 
Why,  I  feel  lifted  high  up  above  any  sort  of 
difiiculty  or  obstacle  life  can  tiy  to  put  in  my 
way.  I'm  going  to  work  when  I  get  to  Ber- 
lin as  I  never  did  before. 

I  said  something  like  this  to  Kloster,  who 
replied  with  great  tartness  that  I  oughtn't  to 


CHRISTINE  155 

want  to  do  anything  for  the  sake  of  producing 
a  certain  look  in  somebody's  eyes.  "That  is 
not  Art,  Mees  Chrees.  That  is  nothing  that 
will  ever  be  any  good.  You  are,  you  see,  just 
the  veriest  woman ;  and  here — "  he  ahnost  cried 
— "is  this  gift,  this  precious  immortal  gift, 
placed  in  such  shakj'^  small  hands  as  yours." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  I  said,  feeling  quite 
ashamed  that  I  had  it,  he  was  so  much  an- 
noyed. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  relenting  a  little,  "do  not 
be  sorry — marry.  jNIarry  quickly.  Then 
there  may  be  recovery." 

And  when  he  was  saying  good-bye — I  tell 
vou  this  because  it  will  amuse  vou — he  said  with 
a  kind  of  angry  grief  that  if  Pro\idence  were 
determined  in  its  unaccountable  freakishness 
to  place  a  gift  which  should  be  so  exclusively 
man's  in  tlie  shell  or  husk  (I  forget  which  lie 
called  it,  but  anyhow  it  sounded  contemptu- 
ous) ,  of  a  woman,  it  might  at  least  have  selected 
an  ugly  woman.  "It  need  not,"  he  said 
angrily,  "have  taken  one  who  was  likely  in 
any  case  to  be  selected  for  jmrposes  of  love- 
making,  and  given  her,  besides  the  ordinary 
collection  of  allurements  provided  by  nature 
to  attract  the  male,  a  Ucdhorcnicopf.  Never 
should  that  Mide  sweep  of  brow  and  those  deep 


156  CHRISTINE 

set  eyes,  the  whole  noble  thoughtfulness  of  such 
a  head," — you  mustn't  think  me  vain,  little 
mother,  he  positively  said  all  these  things  and 
was  so  angry — "have  been  combined  with  the 
rubbish,  in  this  case  irrelevant  and  actually 
harmful,  that  goes  to  make  up  the  usual  pretty 
young  face.  Mees  Chrees,  I  could  have  wished 
you  some  minor  deformity,  such  as  many  spots, 
for  then  you  would  not  now  be  in  this  lamen- 
table condition  of  being  loved  and  responding 
to  it.  And  if,"  he  said  as  a  parting  shot, 
"Providence  was  determined  to  commit  this 
folly,  it  need  not  have  crowned  it  by  choosing 
an  Englishwoman." 

"What?"  I  said,  astonished,  following  him 
out  on  to  the  steps,  for  he  has  always  seemed  to 
like  and  admire  us. 

*'The  English  are  not  musical,"  he  said, 
climbing  into  the  car  that  was  to  take  him  to  the 
station,  and  in  which  Frau  Kloster  had  been 
patiently  waiting.  "They  are  not,  they  never 
were,  and  they  never  will  be.  Purcell?  A  fig 
for  your  Purcell.  You  cannot  make  a  great 
gallery  of  art  out  of  one  miniature,  however 
perfect.  And  as  for  your  moderns,  your 
Parrys  and  Stanfords  and  Elgars  and  the  rest, 
why,  what  stuff  are  they?  Very  nice,  very 
good,  very  conscientious:  the  translation  into 


CHRISTINE  157 

musical  notation  of  respectable  English  gen- 
tlemen in  black  coats  and  silk  hats.  They  are 
the  British  Stock  Exchange  got  into  music. 
No,  no,"  he  said,  tucking  the  dust-cover  round 
himself  and  his  wife,  "the  English  are  not 
musicians.  And  you,"  he  called  back  as  the 
car  was  moving,  "You,  Mees  Chrees,  are  a 
freak, — nothing  whatever  but  a  freak  and  an 
accident." 

We  turned  away  to  go  indoors.  The  Grafin 
said  she  considered  he  might  have  wished  her 
good-bye.  "After  all,"  she  remarked,  "I  was 
his  hostess." 

She  looked  thoughtfully  at  me  and  Bernd 
as  we  stood  arm-in-arm  aside  at  the  door  to  let 
her  pass.  "These  geniuses,"  she  said,  laying 
her  hand  a  moment  on  Bernd's  shoulder,  "are 
interesting  but  difhcult." 

I  think,  little  mother,  she  meant  me,  and 
was  feehng  a  little  sorry  for  Bernd! 

Isn't  it  queer  how  people  don't  understand. 
Anyhow,  when.she  hid  gone  in  we  looked  at 
each  other  and  laughed,  and  Bernd  took  my 
hands  and  kissed  them  one  after  the  other,  and 
said  something  so  sweet,  so  dear, — but  I  can't 
tell  you  what  it  was.  Tliat's  the  worst  of  this 
having  a  lover, — all  the  most  wonderful,  beau- 
tiful things  that  are  being  said  to  me  by  him 


lo8  CHRISTINE 

are  things  I  can't  tell  you,  my  mother,  my  be- 
loved mother  whom  I've  always  told  every- 
thing to  all  my  life.  Just  the  things  you'd 
love  most  to  hear,  the  things  that  crown  me 
with  glory  and  pride,  I  can't  tell  you.  It  is 
because  they're  sacred.  Sacred  and  holy  to 
him  and  to  me.  You  must  imagine  them,  my 
precious  one;  imagine  the  very  loveliest  things 
you'd  like  said  to  your  Chris,  and  they  won't 
be  half  as  lovely  us  what  is  being  said  to  her. 
I  must  go  now,  because  Bernd  and  I  are 
going  sailing  on  the  Haff  in  a  fishing  boat  there 
is.  We're  taking  tea,  and  are  going  to  be 
away  till  the  evening.  The  fishing  boat  has 
orange-coloured  sails,  and  is  quite  big, — I  mean 
you  can  walk  about  on  her  and  she  doesn't  tip 
up.  We're  going  to  run  her  nose  into  the 
rushes  along  the  shore  when  we're  tired  of  sail- 
ing, and  Bernd  is  going  to  hear  me  say  my 
German  psalms  and  read  Heine  to  me.  Good- 
bye then  for  the  moment,  my  little  darling  one. 
How  very  heavenly  it  is  being  engaged,  and 
having  the  right  to  go  off  openly  for  hours  with 
the  one  person  you  want  to  be  with,  and  no- 
body can  say,  "No,  you  mustn't."  Do  j^ou 
know  BeiTid  has  to  have  the  Kaiser's  peniiis- 
sion  to  marry?  All  officers  have  to,  and  he 
quite  often  saj^s  no.     The  girl  has  to  prove  she 


CHRISTINE  159 

has  an  income  of  her  own  of  at  least  5000  marks 
— that's  £250  a  year — and  be  of  demonstrably 
decent  birth.  Well,  the  birth  part  is  all  right 
— I  wonder  if  the  Kaiser  knows  how  to  pro- 
nounce Chohnondeley — and  of  course  once  I 
get  playing  at  concerts  I  shall  earn  heaps  more 
than  the  £250;  so  I  expect  we  shall  be  able 
to  arrange  that.  Kloster  will  give  me  a  cer- 
tificate of  future  earning  powers,  I'm  sure. 
But  marrying  seems  so  far  off,  such  a  dreamy 
thing,  that  I've  not  begun  really  to  think  of 
it.  Being  engaged  is  quite  lovely  enough  to 
go  on  with.     There's  Bernd  calhng. 

Evening. 
I've  just  come  in.  It's  ten  o'clock.  I've 
had  the  most  perfect  day.  Little  mother,  what 
an  amazingly  beautiful  world  it  is.  Every- 
thing is  combining  to  make  this  summer  the 
most  wonderful  of  summers  for  me.  How  I 
shall  think  of  it  when  I  am  old,  and  laugh  for 
joy.  The  weather  is  so  perfect,  people  are  so 
kind,  my  playing  j)rospects  are  so  encourag- 
ing; and  there's  Bernd.  Did  you  ever  know 
such  a  lot  of  lovely  things  for  one  girl? 
All  my  days  are  filled  with  sunshine  and  love. 
Everywhere  I  look  there's  nothing  but  kind- 
ness.    Do  yon  think  the  world  is  getting  really 


160  CHRISTINE 

kinder,  or  is  it  only  that  I'm  so  happy?  I  can't 
help  thinking  that  all  that  talk  I  heard  in  Ber- 
lin, all  that  restlessness  and  desire  to  hit  out 
at  somebody,  anybody, — the  knock-him-down- 
and-rob  him  idea  thejr  seemed  obsessed  with, 
was  simpljT^  because  it  was  drawing  near  the 
holiday  time  of  year,  and  every  one  was  over- 
worked and  nervy  after  a  year's  being  cooped 
up  in  offices ;  and  then  the  great  heat  came  and 
finished  them.  They  were  cross,  like  overtired 
children,  cross  and  quarrelsome.  How  cross 
I  was  too,  tormented  by  those  flies!  After 
this  month,  when  everybody  has  been  away  at 
the  sea  and  in  the  forests,  they'll  be  different, 
and  as  full  of  kindliness  and  gentleness  as  these 
gentle  kind  skies  are,  and  the  morning  and 
the  evening,  and  the  placid  noons.  I  don't 
believe  anybody  who  has  watched  cows  pastur- 
ing in  golden  meadows,  as  Bernd  and  I  have 
for  hours  this  afternoon,  or  heard  water  lapping 
among  reeds,  or  seen  eagles  shining  far  up  in 
the  blue  above  the  pine  trees,  and  drawn  in  with 
every  breath  the  sweetness,  the  extraordinary 
warm  sweetness,  of  this  summer  in  places  in 
the  forests  and  by  the  sea, — I  don't  believe 
people  who  had  done  that  could  for  at  least 
another  year  want  to  quarrel  and  fight.  And 
by  the  time  they  did  want  to,  having  got  jumpy 


CHRISTINE  161 

in  the  course  of  months  of  uninterrupted  herd- 
ing together,  it  will  be  time  for  them  to  go  for 
holidays  again,  back  to  the  blessed  country  to 
be  soothed  and  healed.  And  each  year  we 
shall  grow  wiser,  each  year  more  grown-up, 
less  like  naughty  children,  nearer  to  God.  AH 
we  want  is  time, — time  to  think  and  under- 
stand. I  feel  religious  now.  Happiness  has 
made  me  so  religious  that  I  would  satisfy  even 
Aunt  Edith.  I'm  sure  happiness  brings  one 
to  God  much  quicker  than  ways  of  grief.  In- 
deed it's  the  only  right  way  of  being  brought, 
I  think.  You  know,  little  mother,  I've  always 
hated  the  idea  of  being  kicked  to  God,  of  get- 
ting on  to  our  knees  because  we've  been  beaten 
till  we  can't  stand.  I  think  if  I  were  to  lose 
Mhat  I  love, — you,  Bernd,  or  be  hurt  in  my 
hands  so  that  I  couldn't  play, — it  wouldn't 
make  me  good,  it  would  make  me  bad.  I'd  go 
all  hard,  and  defy  and  rebel.  And  really  God 
ought  to  like  that  best.  It's  at  least  a  square 
and  manly  attitude.  Think  how  we  would  de- 
spise any  creature  wlio  fawned  on  us,  and 
praised  and  thanked  us  because  we  had  been 
cruel.  And  why  should  God  be  less  fine  than 
we  are?  Oh  well,  I  must  go  to  bed.  One 
can't  settle  God  in  the  tnil-cnd  of  a  letter. 
IJut   I'm  going  to  say  prayers  tonight,  real 


162  CHRISTINE 

prayers  of  gratitude,  real  uplif  tings  of  the  heart 
in  thanks  and  praise.  I  think  I  was  always 
happy,  little  mother.  I  don't  remember  any- 
thing else ;  but  it  wasn't  this  secure  happiness. 
I  used  to  be  anxious  sometimes.  I  knew  we 
were  poor,  and  that  you  were  so  very  precious. 
Now  I  feel  safe,  safe  about  you  as  well  as 
myself.  I  can  look  life  in  the  eyes,  quite  con- 
fident, almost  careless.  I  have  such  faith  in 
Berndl  Two  together  are  so  strong,  if  one  of 
the  two  is  Bernd. 

Good  night  my  blessed  mother  of  my  heart. 
I'm  going  to  say  thank-prayers  now,  for  you, 
for  him,  for  the  whole  beautifulness  of  the 
world.  My  windows  are  wide  open  on  to  the 
Haff.  There's  no  sound  at  all,  except  that 
little  plop,  plop,  of  the  water  against  the  ter- 
race wall.  Sometimes  a  bird  flutters  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  trees  of  the  forest  on  either  side 
of  the  garden,  turning  over  in  its  sleep,  I  sup- 
pose, and  then  everything  is  still  again,  so  still ; 
just  as  if  some  great  cool  hand  were  laid  gently 
on  the  hot  forehead  of  the  world  and  was  hush- 
ing it  to  sleep. 

Your  Chris  who  loves  you. 


Koseritz,  Friday,  July  25tlh  19U. 
Beloved  mother, 

Bernd  was  telegraphed  for  this  afternoon 
from  headquarters  to  go  back  at  once  to  Ber- 
lin, and  he's  gone.  I'm  rubbing  my  eyes  to  see 
if  I'm  awake,  it  has  been  so  sudden.  The  whole 
Iiouse  seemed  changed  in  an  instant.  The 
Graf  went  too.  The  newspaper  doesn't  get 
here  till  we  are  at  lunch,  and  is  always  brought 
in  and  laid  by  the  Graf,  and  today  there  was 
the  Austrian  ultimatum  to  Servia  in  it,  and 
when  the  Graf  saw  that  in  the  headlines  of  the 
Tageszeitung  he  laid  it  down  without  a  word 
and  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Bernd  reached 
over  for  the  paper  to  see  what  liad  happened, 
and  it  was  that.  He  read  it  out  to  us.  "This 
means  war,"  he  said,  and  tlie  Griifin  said, 
"Hush,"  very  quickly;  I  supj)ose  because  she 
couldn't  bear  to  hear  the  word.  Then  she  got 
lip  too,  and  went  after  the  Graf,  and  we  were 
left,  Helena  and  the  governess,  and  the  chil- 
dren, and  JJernd,  and  1  at  a  confused  and  un- 
tidy table,  everybody  with  a  question  in  their 
eyes,  and  the  servants'  hands  not  very  steady  as 
they  held  the  dishes.     The  mcnscrvants  would 

103 


164  CHRISTINE 

all  have  to  go  and  tight  if  there  were  war.  No 
wonder  the  dishes  shook  a  httle,  for  they  can't 
but  feel  excited. 

As  soon  as  we  could  get  away  from  the 
diningroom  Bernd  and  1  went  out  into  the 
garden — the  Graf  and  Griitin  hadn't  reap- 
peared— and  he  said  that  though  for  a  mo- 
ment he  had  thought  ^Vustria's  ultimatum 
would  mean  war,  it  was  only  just  the  first  mo- 
ment, but  that  he  believed  Servia  would  agi-ee 
to  everything,  and  the  crisis  would  blow  over 
in  the  way  so  many  of  them  had  blown  over  be- 
fore. 

I  asked  him  what  would  happen  if  it  didn't ; 
I  wanted  things  explained  to  me  clearly,  for 
positively  I'm  not  quite  clear  about  which 
nations  would  be  fighting;  and  he  said  why  talk 
about  hateful  things  like  war  as  long  as  there 
wasn't  a  war.  He  said  that  as  long  as  his 
chief  left  him  peacefully  at  Koseritz  and  didn't 
send  for  him  to  Berlin  I  might  be  sure  it  was 
going  to  be  just  a  local  quarrel,  for  his  being 
sent  for  would  mean  that  all  officers  on  leave 
were  being  sent  for,  and  that  the  Government 
was  at  least  uneasy.  Then  at  four  o'clock 
came  the  telegram.  The  Government  is,  ac- 
cordingly, at  least  uneasy. 

I  saw  hardly  any  more  of  him.     He  got  his 


CHRISTINE  165 

things  together  with  a  quickness  that  astonished 
nie,  and  he  and  the  Graf,  who  was  going  to 
Berlin  by  the  same  train,  motored  to  Stettin  to 
catch  the  last  express.  Just  before  they  left 
he  caught  hold  of  my  hand  and  pulled  me  into 
tlie  library  where  no  one  was,  and  told  me  how 
he  thanked  God  I  was  English.  "Chris,  if  you 
had  been  French  or  Russian," — he  said,  looking 
as  though  the  very  thought  filled  him  with  hor- 
ror. He  laid  hLs  face  against  mine.  "I'd  have 
loved  you  just  the  same,"  he  said,  "I  could 
have  done  nothing  else  but  love  you,  and  think, 
think  what  it  would  have  meant — " 

"Then  it  will  be  Germany  as  well,  if  there's 
war?"  I  said,  "Germany  as  well  as  Austria, 
and  France  and  Russia — what,  almost  all  P2u- 
rope?"  I  exclaimed,  incredulous  of  such  a  ter- 
ror. 

"Except  England,"  he  said;  and  whispered, 
"Oh,  thank  God,  except  England."  Some- 
body opened  the  door  an  inch  and  told  him 
he  must  come  at  once.  I  whispered  in  his 
ear  that  T  would  go  l^ack  to  Rcrlin  tomorrow 
and  be  near  him.  He  went  out  so  quickly  that 
by  the  time  I  got  into  the  hall  after  him  the 
car  was  tearing  down  the  avenue,  and  I  only 
caught  a  flash  of  the  sun  on  his  helmet  as  he 
disappeared  round  the  corner. 


166  CHRISTINE 

It  has  all  been  so  quick.  I  can't  believe  it 
quite.  I  don't  know  what  to  think,  and  no- 
body says  anything  here.  The  Griifin,  when 
I  ask  her  what  she  thinks,  says  soothingly  that 
I  needn't  worry  my  little  head — ^my  little  head ! 
As  though  I  were  six,  and  made  of  sugar — 
and  that  everything  will  settle  down  again. 
"Europe  is  in  an  excited  state,"  she  says 
placidly,  "and  suspects  danger  round  every 
corner,  and  when  it  has  reached  the  corner 
and  looked  round  it,  it  finds  nothing  there  after 
all.  It  has  happened  often  before,  and  will 
no  doubt  happen  again.  Go  to  bed,  my  child, 
and  forget  politics.  Leave  them  to  older  and 
more  experienced  heads.  Always  our  Kaiser 
has  been  on  the  side  of  peace,  and  we  can  trust 
him  to  smooth  down  Austria's  ruffled  feathers." 

Greatly  doubting  her  Kaiser,  after  all  I've 
heard  of  him  at  Kloster's,  I  was  too  polite  to 
be  anything  but  silent,  and  came  up  to  my  room 
obediently.  If  there  is  war,  then  Bernd — oh 
well,  I'm  tired.  I  don't  think  I'll  write  any 
more  tonight.  But  I  do  love  you  so  very  much, 
darhng  mother.  Your  Chris. 

What  a  mercy  that  mothers  are  women,  and 
needn't  go  away  and  fight.  Wouldn't  it  have 
been  too  awful  if  they  had  been  men! 


Koseritz, 

Saturday,  July  25th,  1914. 
You  know,  my  beloved  one,  I'd  much 
rather  be  at  Frau  Berg's  in  Berhn  and  inde- 
pendent, and  able  to  see  Bernd  whenever  he 
can  come,  without  saying  dozens  of  thank  you's 
and  may  I's  to  anybody  each  time,  and  I  had 
arranged  to  go  today,  and  now  the  Grafin 
won't  let  me.  She  says  she'll  take  me  up  on 
]\Ionday  when  she  and  Helena  go.  They're 
going  for  a  short  time  because  they  want  to  be 
nearer  any  news  there  is  than  they  are  here, 
and  she  says  it  wouldn't  be  right  for  her,  so 
nearly  my  aunt,  to  allow  me,  so  nearly  her 
niece,  to  stay  by  myself  in  a  pension  while  she 
\u  in  her  house  in  the  next  street.  What  would 
people  say?  she  asked — was  wiirden  die  Lcute 
sagen,  as  every  German  before  doing  or  re- 
fraiin'ng  from  doing  a  thing  invariably  inquires. 
They  all  from  top  to  bf)Unm  seem  to  walk  in 
terror  of  die  IjChIc  and  what  the}'  would  sagen. 
So  I'm  to  go  to  her  house  in  the  Sommerstrasse, 
and  live  in  chaperoned  s])lcndour  for  as  Icing 
as  sl»e  is  there.     She  says  she  is  certain  mv 

1C7  ' 


168  CHRISTINE 

mother* would  wish  it.  I'm  not  a  bit  certain, 
I  who  know  my  mother  and  know  how  beauti- 
fully empty  she  is  of  conventions  and  how  di- 
vinely indifferent  to  die  JLeute;  but  as  I'm  go- 
ing to  marry  a  German  of  the  Junker  class  I 
suppose  I  must  appease  his  relations, — at  any 
rate  till  I've  got  them,  by  gentle  and  devious 
methods,  a  little  more  used  to  me.  So  I  gave 
in  sullenly.  Don't  be  afraid, — only  sullenly 
inside,  not  outside.  Outside  I  was  so  well- 
bred  and  pleased,  you  can't  think.  It  really  is 
very  kind  of  the  Griifin,  and  her  want  of  en- 
thusiasm, which  was  marked,  only  makes  it  all 
the  kinder.  On  that  principle,  too,  my  grate- 
fulness, owing  to  an  equal  want  of  enthusiasm, 
is  all  the  more  grateful. 

I  don't  want  to  wait  here  till  Monday.  I'd 
like  to  have  gone  today, — got  through  all  the 
miles  of  slow  forest  that  lie  between  us  and  the 
nearest  railway  station,  the  miles  of  forest  news 
has  to  crawl  through  bj''  slow  steps,  dragged  to- 
wards us  in  a  cart  at  a  walking  pace  once  a 
day.  Nearly  all  today  and  quite  all  tomor- 
row we  shall  sit  here  in  this  sunny  emptiness. 
It  is  a  wonderful  day  again,  but  to  me  it's  like 
a  body  with  the  soul  gone,  like  the  meaningless 
smile  of  a  handsome  idiot.  Evidently,  little 
mother,  your  unfortunate  Chris  is  very  seri- 


CHRISTINE  169 

oiisly  in  love.  I  don't  believe  it  is  news  I  want 
to  be  nearer  to:  it's  Bernd. 

As  for  news,  the  papers  today  seem  to  think 
things  will  arrange  themselves.  They're 
rather  unctuous  about  it,  but  then  they're  al- 
ways unctuous, — as  though,  if  they  had  eyes, 
they  would  be  turned  up  to  heaven  with  lots 
of  the  pious  whites  showing.  They  point  out 
the  awful  results  there  would  be  to  the  whole 
world  if  Servia,  that  miserable  small  criminal], 
should  dare  not  satisfy  the  just  demands  of 
Germany's  outraged  and  noble  ally  Austria. 
But  of  course  Servia  will.  They  take  that  for 
granted.  Impossible  that  she  shouldn't.  The 
Kaiser  is  cruising  in  his  yacht  somewhere  up 
round  Norway,  and  His  Majesty  has  shown  no 
signs,  they  say,  of  interrupting  his  holiday. 
As  long  as  he  stays  away,  they  remark,  notli- 
ing  serious  can  happen.  What  an  indictment 
of  S.  M.!  As  long  as  he  stays  away,  playing 
about,  there  will  be  peace.  How  excellent  it 
would  be,  then,  if  he  stayed  away  and  played 
indefinitely. 

1  wanted  to  say  tliis  to  the  Griifin  when  she 
read  the  papers  aloud  to  us  at  luncli,  and 
I  wonder  what  would  have  happened  to  we 
if  I  had.  Well,  though  Tve  got  to  stay  with 
her  and   be   polite   in    the    Sommerstrassc,    I 


17»  CHRISTINE 

shall  escape  every  other  day  to  that  happy, 
rude  place,  Kloster's  flat,  and  can  say  what  I 
like.  I  think  I  told  you  he  is  going  to  give 
me  three  lessons  a  week  now. 

After  tea. 
I  practised  most  of  the  morning.  I  wrote 
to  Bernd,  and  told  him  about  Monday,  and  told 
him — oh,  lots  of  little  things  I  just  happened 
to  think  of.  I  went  out  after  lunch  and  lay 
in  the  meadow  by  the  water's  edge  with  a  book 
I  didn't  read,  the  same  meadow  Bernd  and  I 
anchored  our  fishing  boat  at  onlj'^  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday,  but  reallj'^  ten  years  ago,  and  I 
lay  so  quiet  that  the  cows  forgot  me,  and  came 
and  scrunched  away  at  the  grass  quite  close  to 
my  head.  We  had  tea  as  usual  on  the  terrace 
in  the  shady  angle  of  the  south-west  walls,  and 
the  Grafin  discoursed  placidly  on  the  political 
situation.  She  was  most  instructive;  cahnly 
imparting  knowledge  to  Helena  and  me; 
calmly  embroidering  a  little  calm-looking  shirt 
for  her  married  daughter's  baby,  with  calm, 
cool  white  fingers.  She  seemed  very  content 
with  the  world,  and  the  way  it  is  behaving.  She 
looked  as  unruffled  as  one  of  the  swans  on  the 
Ilaff.  All  the  sedition  and  heretical  opinions 
she  must  have  heard  Kloster  fling  about  have 


CHRISTINE  171 

slid  off  her  without  leaving  a  mark.  Evidently 
she  pays  no  attention  to  anything  he  thinks,  on 
the  ground  that  he  is  a  genius.  Geniuses  are 
privileged  lunatics.  I  gather  that  is  rather 
how  she  feels.  She  was  quite  interesting  about 
Germany, — her  talk  was  all  of  Germany.  She 
knows  a  great  deal  of  its  history  and  I  think 
she  must  have  told  us  all  she  knew.  Bj  the 
time  the  servants  came  to  take  away  the  tea- 
things  I  had  a  distinct  vision  of  Germany  as 
tlie  most  lovable  of  little  lambs  with  a  blue 
ribbon  round  its  neck,  standing  knee-deep  in 
daisies  and  looking  about  the  world  with  kind 
little  eyes. 

Good-bye  darling  mother.  Saturday  is 
nearly  over  now.  By  this  time  the  time  limit 
for  Scrvia  has  expired.  I  wonder  what  has 
happened.  I  wonder  what  you  in  Switzer- 
land are  feeling  about  it.  You  know,  my  dear- 
est one,  I'll  interru})t  my  lessons  and  come  to 
Switzerland  if  you  have  the  least  shred  of  a 
wish  that  I  should;  and  jjcrhaps  if  Bernd  really 
had  to  go  away — supposing  the  unlikely  were 
to  happen  after  all  and  there  were  war — I'd 
rcant  to  come  creeping  back  close  to  you  till 
he  is  safe  again.  And  yet  I  don't  know. 
Surely  the  right  thing  would  be  to  go  on,  what- 
ever happens,  (piietly  working  with  Klosler  till 


172  CHRISTINE 

Octot)er  as  we  had  planned.  But  youVe  onty 
got  to  lift  your  little  finger,  and  I'll  come.  I 
mean,  if  you  get  thinking  things  and  feeling 
worried. 

lYour  Chris. 


Koseiitz, 

Sunday  evening,  July  2&th. 
Beloved  mother, 

I've  packed,  and  I'm  ready.  We  start  early 
tomorrow.  The  newspapers,  for  some  reason, 
perhaps  excitement  and  disorganization,  didn't 
come  today,  but  the  Graf  telephoned  from  Ber- 
lin about  the  Austro-IIungarian  minister  hav- 
ing asked  the  Servian  govermiient  for  his  pass- 
ports and  left  Belgrade.  You'll  know  about 
this  today  too.  The  Griifin,  still  placid,  says 
Austria  will  now  very  properly  punish  Servia, 
both  for  the  murder  and  for  the  insolence  of 
refusing  her,  Austria's,  just  demands.  The 
Graf  merely  telephoned  that  Servia  had  re- 
fused. It  did  seem  incredible.  I  did  think 
Servia  would  deserve  her  punishing.  Yester- 
day's papers  said  the  demands  were  most  rea- 
sonable considering  what  had  been  done.  1 
hadn't  read  the  Austrian  note,  because  of  the 
confusion  of  Bernd's  sudden  going  away,  and 
I  was  full  of  indignation  at  Scrvia's  behaviour, 
])iling  insult  on  injury  in  this  way  and  risking 
setting  Kurope  by  the  ears,  but  was  pulled  up 

short  and  set  thinking  by  the  Griilin's  looking 

173" 


174  CHRISTINE 

])leased  at  my  expressions  of  indignation,  and 
Iier  coming  over  to  me  to  pat  my  cheek  and  say, 
"This  child  will  make  an  excellent  little  Ger- 
man." 

Then  I  thought  I'd  better  wait  and  know 
more  before  sweeping  Servia  out  of  my  dis- 
gusted sight.  There  are  probably  lots  of  other 
things  to  know.  Kloster  will  tell  me.  I  find 
I  have  a  profound  distrust  really  of  these  peo- 
ple. I  don't  mean  of  particular  people,  like 
the  Koseritzes  and  the  Klosters  and  their 
friends,  but  of  Germans  in  the  mass.  It  is  a 
sort  of  deep-down  discomfort  of  spirit,  the  dis- 
comfort of  disagreement  in  fimdamentals. 

"Then  there'll  be  war?"  I  said  to  the  Grafin, 
staring  at  her  placid  face,  and  not  a  bit  pleased 
about  being  going  to  be  an  excellent  little  Ger- 
man. 

"Oh,  a  punitive  expedition  only,"  she  said. 

"Bernd  thought  it  would  mean  Russia  and 
France  and  you  as  well,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  Bernd — he  is  in  love,"  said  the  Griifin, 
smiling. 

"I  don't  quite  see — '*  I  began. 

"Lovers  always  exaggerate,"  she  said. 
"Russia  and  France  will  not  interfere  in  so  just 
a  punishment." 

"But  is  it  just?"  I  asked. 


CHRISTINE  175 

She  gazed  at  me  critically  at  this.  It  was 
not,  she  evidently  considered,  a  suitable  remark 
for  one  whose  business  it  was  to  turn  into  an 
excellent  little  German.  "Dear  child,"  she 
said,  "you  cannot  suppose  that  our  ally,  the 
Kaiser's  ally,  would  make  demands  that  are 
not  just?" 

"Do  you  think  Friday's  papers  are  still  any- 
where about?"  was  my  answer.  "I'd  like  to 
read  the  x\ustrian  note,  and  think  it  over  for 
myself.     I  haven't  yet." 

The  Grafin  smiled  at  this,  and  rang  the  bell. 
"I  expect  Dorner" — Dorner  is  the  butler — 
"has  them,"  she  said.  "But  do  not  worry  your 
little  head  tliis  hot  weather  too  much." 

"It  won't  melt,"  I  said,  resenting  that  my 
head  should  be  regarded  as  so  very  small  and 
also  made  of  sugar, — she  said  something  like 
this  the  other  day,  and  I  resented  tliat  too. 

"There  are  people  whose  business  it  is  to 
think  these  high  matters  out  for  us,"  she  said, 
"and  in  their  liands  we  can  safely  leave  them." 

"As  if  they  were  ChhI,"  I  remarked. 

She  looked  at  me  critically  again.  "Pre- 
cisely," slie  said.  "Loyal  subjects,  true  Chris- 
tians, are  alike  in  their  unquestioning  trust  and 
obedience  to  authority." 

I  came  upstairs  then,  in  case  I  shouldn't  be 


176  CHRISTINE 

able  to  keep  from  saying  something  truthful 
and  rude. 

What  a  misfortune  it  is  that  truth  always 
is  so  rude.  So  that  a  person  who,  like  myself, 
for  reasons  that  I  can't  help  thinking  are  on 
the  whole  base,  is  anxious  to  hang  on  to  being 
what  servants  call  a  real  lady,  is  accordingly 
constantly  forced  into  a  regrettable  want  of 
crndour.  I  wish  Bernd  weren't  a  Junker. 
It  is  a  great  blot  on  his  perfection.  I'd  much 
rather  he  were  a  navvy,  a  stark,  swearing 
navvy,  and  we  could  go  in  for  stark,  swearing 
candour,  and  I  needn't  be  a  lady  any  more. 
It's  so  middle-class  being  a  lady.  These  Ger- 
man aristocrats  are  hopelessly  middle-class. 

I  know  when  I  get  to  Berlin,  and  only  want 
to  keep  abreast  of  the  real  things  that  may  be 
going  to  happen,  which  will  take  me  all  my 
time,  for  I  haven't  been  used  to  big  events, 
it  will  be  very  annoying  to  be  caught  and  de- 
layed at  every  turn  by  small  nets  of  politenesses 
and  phrases  and  considerations,  by  having  to 
remember  3VCi*y  blessed  one  of  the  manners 
tlicy  gc  in  for  so  terribly  here.  I've  never  met 
so  much  manners  as  in  Germany.  The  pro- 
testations you  have  to  make!  The  elaborate- 
ness and  length  of  eveiy  acceptance  or  refusal  I 
And  it's  all  so  much  fluff  and  wind,  signifying 


CHRISTINE  177 

nothing,  nothing  at  all  unless  it's  fear;  fear, 
again,  their  everlasting  haunting  spectre;  fear 
of  the  other  person's  being  offended  if  he  is 
stronger  than  you,  higher  up, — because  then 
he'll  hurt  you,  punish  you  somehow;  ten  to  one, 
if  you're  a  man,  he'll  fight  you. 

I've  read  the  Austrian  Note.  I  don't  won- 
der very  much  at  Servia's  refusing  to  accept 
it,  and  yet  surely  it  would  have  been  wiser  if  she 
had  accepted  it,  anyhow  as  much  of  it  as  she 
possibly  could. 

"Much  wiser,"  said  the  Griifin,  smihng 
gently  when  I  said  this  at  dinner  tonight.  "At 
least,  wiser  for  Servia.  But  it  is  well  so." 
And  she  smiled  again. 

I've  come  tc  tlie  conclusion  that  the  Griifin 
too  wants  war, — a  big  European  war,  so  that 
Gennany,  who  is  so  longing  tc  get  that  tire- 
some rattling  sword  of  hers  out  of  :he  scabbard; 
can  seize  the  excuse  and  rush  in.  One  only  has 
to  have  stayed  here,  lived  among  them  and 
heard  them  talk,  to  know  that  they're  all  on 
tiptoe  for  an  excuse  to  start  their  attacking. 
They've  been  working  for  years  for  the  mo- 
ment when  they  can  safely  attack.  It  hai^ 
been  the  Kaiser's  one  idea,  Kloster  says,  dur- 
ing the  wliok  of  his  reign.  Of  course  it's  true 
it  has  been  a  j[x;accfiil  rcigii, — they're  always 


178  CHRISTINE 

pointing  that  out  Jiere  when  endeavoiiring  to 
convince  a  foreigner  that  the  last  thing  their 
immense  preparations  mean  is  war;  of  course 
a  reign  is  peaceful  up  to  the  moment  when  it 
isn't.  They've  edged  away  carefully  up  to 
now  from  any  possible  quarrel,  because  they 
weren't  ready  for  the  almighty  smash  they 
mean  to  have  when  they  are  ready.  They've 
prepared  to  the  smallest  detail.  Bemd  told 
me  that  the  men  who  can't  fight,  the  old  and 
unfit,  each  have  received  instructions  for  years 
and  years  past  every  autumn,  secret  exact  in- 
structions, as  to  what  they  are  to  do,  when  war 
is  declared,  to  help  in  the  successful  killing  of 
their  brothers, — their  brothers,  little  mother, 
for  whom,  too,  Christ  died.  Each  of  these 
aged  or  more  or  less  diseased  Germans,  the 
left-overs  who  really  can't  possibly  fight,  has 
his  place  allotted  to  him  in  these  secret  orders 
in  the  nearest  town  to  where  he  lives,  a  place 
supervising  the  stores  or  doing  organizing 
work.  Every  other  man,  except  those  who 
have  the  luck  to  be  idiots  or  dying — what  a 
world  to  have  to  live  in,  when  this  is  luck — 
will  fight.  The  women,  and  the  thousands  of 
imported  Russians  and  Poles,  will  look  after 
the  farms  for  the  short  time  the  men  will  be 


CHRISTINE  179 

away,  for  it  is  to  be  a  short  war,  a  few  weeks 
oiily,  as  short  as  the  triumphant  war  of  1870. 
Did  you  ever  know  anything  so  horrifying, 
so  evil,  as  this  minute  concentration,  year  in 
year  out,  for  decades,  on  killing — on  successful, 
triumphant  killing,  just  so  that  you  can  grab 
something  that  doesn't  belong  to  you.  It  is  no 
use  dressing  it  up  in  big  windy  words  like 
Deutschthum  and  the  rest  of  the  stuff  the 
authorities  find  it  convenient  to  fool  their  slaves 
with, — it  comes  to  exactly  that.  I  always,  you 
see,  think  of  Germany  as  the  grabber,  the  at- 
tacker. Anything  else,  now  that  I've  lived 
here,  is  simi)ly  inconceivable.  A  defensive  war 
in  which  she  should  have  to  defend  her  homes 
from  wanton  attack  is  inconceivable.  -There 
is  no  wantonness  now  in  the  civilized  nations. 
AVe  have  outgrown  tlie  blood  stage.  We  are 
sober  peoples,  sober  and  civilian, — grown  up,  in 
fact.  And  the  semi-civilized  peoples  would  be 
afraid  to  attack  a  nation  so  strong  as  (xennany. 
She  is  training  and  living,  and  has  been  train- 
ing and  living  for  years  and  years,  simply  to 
attack.  What  Is  the  use  of  their  protesting? 
One  has  only  to  listen  to  their  j)()inls  of  riew 
to  bnish  aside  the  ])erfunctory  j)rotestations 
they  put  in  every  now  and  then,  as  if  by  order. 


180  CHRISTINE 

whenever  they  remember  not  to  be  natural. 
Oh,  I  know  this  is  very  different  from  what  I 
was  writing  and  feehng  two  or  three  days  ago, 
but  I've  beeh  let  down  with  a  jerk,  I'm  being 
reminded  of  the  impressions  I  got  in  Berhn, 
they've  come  up  sharply  again,  and  I'm  not  so 
confident  that  what  was  the  matter  with  the 
people  there  was  only  heat  and  overwork. 
There  was  an  eagerness  about  them,  a  kind  of 
fever  to  begin  their  grabbing.  I  told  you,  I 
think,  how  Berlin  made  me  think  when  first  I 
got  there  of  something  seething. 

Darling  mother,  forgive  me  if  I'm  shrill. 
I  wouldn't  be  shrill,  I'm  certain  I  wouldn't, 
if  I  could  believe  in  the  necessity,  the  justice 
of  such  a  war,  if  Germany  weren't  going  to 
war  but  war  were  coming  to  Germany.  And 
I'm  afraid, — afraid  because  of  Bernd.  Sup- 
pose he — Well,  perhaps  by  the  time  we  get  to 
Berlin  things  will  have  calmed  down,  and  the 
Grafin  will  be  able  to  come  back  straight  here, 
which  God  gi-ant,  and  I  shall  go  back  to  Frau 
Berg  and  my  flies.  I  shall  regard  those  flies 
now  with  the  utmost  friendliness.  I  shan't 
mind  anything  they  do. 

Good  night  blessed  mother.  I'm  so  thank- 
ful these  two  days  are  over. 

i^Tour  Chris. 


CHRISTINE  181 

It  is  this  silence  here,  this  absurd  peaceful 
sunshine,  and  the  placid  Grafin,  and  the  bland 
unconsciousness  of  nature  that  I  find  hard  to 
bear. 


Berlin^  Wednesday,  July  29th. 
My  own  little  mother, 

It  is  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  I'm  in 
my  dressing-gown  writing  to  you,  because  if  I 
don't  do  it  now  I  shall  be  swamped  with  peo- 
ple and  things,  as  I  was  all  yesterday  and  the 
day  before,  and  not  get  a  moment's  quiet.  You 
see,  there  is  going  to  be  war,  almost  to  a  dead 
certainty,  and  the  Germans  have  gone  mad. 
The  effect  even  on  this  house  is  feverish,  so 
that  getting  up  very  early  will  be  my  only 
chance  of  writing  to  you. 

You  never  saw  anything  hke  the  streets 
yesterday.  They  seemed  full  of  drunken 
people,  shouting  up  and  down  with  red 
faces  all  swollen  with  excitement.  It  is 
of  course  intensely  interesting  and  new  to 
me,  who  have  never  been  closer  to  such  a  thing 
as  war  than  history  lessons  at  school,  but  what 
do  they  all  think  they're  going  to  get,  what  do 
they  aU  think  it's  really  for,  these  poor  crea- 
tures bellowing  and  strutting,  and  waving  their 
hats  and  handkerchiefs,  and  even  their  babies, 
high  over  their  heads  whenever  a  konigliche 

182 


CHRISTIXE  183 

Hoheit  dashes  past  in  a  motor,  which  happens 
every  five  minutes  because  there  are  such  a  lot 
of  them.  Our  drive  from  Koseritz  to  Stettin 
on  I^Ionday,  which  now  seems  so  remote  that 
it  is  as  if  it  was  another  hfe,  was  the  last  beauti- 
ful ordinary  thing  that  happened.  Since  then 
it  has  been  one  great  noise  and  ugliness.  I 
can't  forget  the  look  of  the  country  as  we 
passed  through  it  on  IMonday,  so  lovely  in  its 
sunmier  peacefulness,  tlie  first  rye  being  cut  in 
the  fields,  the  hedges  full  of  Traveler's  Joy.  I 
didn't  notice  how  beautiful  it  was  at  the  time,  I 
only  wanted  to  get  on,  to  get  away,  to  get 
the  news;  but  now  I'm  here  I  remember  it  as 
something  curiously  innocent,  and  I'm  so  glad 
we  had  a  puncture  that  made  us  stop  for  ten 
minutes  in  a  bit  of  the  road  where  there  were 
great  cornfields  as  far  as  one  could  see,  and  a 
great  stretch  of  sky  with  peaceful  little  wliite 
clouds  that  hardly  moved,  and  only  the  sound 
of  poplars  by  tlie  roadside  rustling  their  leaves 
with  that  lovely  li(}uid  sound  they  make,  and 
larks  singing.  It  comforts  me  to  call  this  up 
again,  to  hide  in  it  for  a  minute  away  from  the 
sliouting  of  DculschJnnd  iibcr  allies,  and  the 
hoch.'i  and  yellings.  Then  we  got  to  Stettin; 
and  since  then  I  have  lived  in  ugliness. 

The  Kaiser  came  back  on  Monday.     lie  had 


184  CHRISTINE 

arrived  in  Berlin  by  the  time  we  got  here,  and 
the  Graiin's  triumphant  calm  visibly  increased 
when  the  footman  who  met  us  at  the  station 
eagerly  told  her  the  news.  For  this,  as  the 
papers  said  that  evening,  hardly  able  to  con- 
ceal their  joy  beneath  their  pious  hopes  that  the 
horrors  of  war  may  even  yet  be  spared  the 
world,  reveals  the  full  seriousness  of  the  situa- 
tion. I  like  the  "even  yet,"  don't  you?  Bernd 
was  at  the  station,  and  drove  with  us  to  the 
Sommerstrasse.  We  went  along  the  Doro- 
theenstrasse,  at  the  back  of  Unter  den  Linden, 
as  the  Lindens  were  choked  with  people.  It 
was  impossible  to  get  through  them.  They 
were  a  living  wedge  of  people,  with  frantic 
mounted  policemen  trying  to  get  them  to  go 
somewhere  else. 

Bernd  was  so  dear,  and  oh  it  was  such 
a  blessing  to  be  near  him  again!  But 
he  was  solemn,  and  didn't  smile  at  all  except 
when  he  looked  at  me.  Then  that  dear  smile 
that  is  so  full  of  goodness  changed  his  whole 
face.  "Oh  Bernd,  I  do  love  you  so  much/' 
I  couldn't  help  whispering,  leaning  forward  to 
Jo  it  regardless  of  Helena  who  sat  next  to  him; 
and  seeing  by  Helena's  stare  that  she  had  heard, 
and  feeling  recklessly  cheerful  at  having 
got  back  to  him,  I  turned  on  her  and  said, 


CHRISTINE  185 

"Well,  he  shouldn't  smile  at  me  m  that  darling 
way." 

The  Grafin  laughed  gently,  so  I  knew  she 
thought  my  manners  bad.  I've  learned  that 
when  she  laughs  gently  she  disapproves,  just  as 
I've  learned  that  when  she  says  with  a  placid 
sigh  that  war  is  terrible  and  must  be  avoided, 
all  her  hopes  are  bound  up  in  its  not  being- 
avoided.  Her  only  son  is  in  the  Cuirassiers, 
and  is,  Kloster  says,  a  naturally  unsuccessful 
person.  War  is  his  chance  of  promotion,  of 
making  a  career.  It  is  also  his  chance  of  death 
or  maiming,  as  I  said  to  Helena  on  Sunday  at 
Koseritz  when  she  was  talking  about  her 
brother  and  his  chances  if  there  is  war  to  the 
pastor,  who  was  calling  hat  in  hand  and  rery 
full  of  bows. 

She  stared  at  me,  and  so  did  the  pastor.  I'm 
afraid  I  plumped  into  the  conversation  impetu- 
ously. 

"i  had  sooner,"  said  Helena,  "that  Werner 
were  dead  or  maimed  for  life  than  that  he 
should  not  make  a  career.  One's  brother  must 
not,  cannot  be  a  failure." 

And  the  pastor  bowed  and  exclaimed,  "Tliat 
is  well  and  finely  said.  'J'hat  is  full  of  pride, 
of  the  true  (ieriiian  patrician  j)ri(le." 

Helena,  you  see,  forgot,  as  Germans  some- 


18G  CHRISTINE 

times  do,  not  to  be  natural.  She  said  straight 
but  it  was  a  career  she  wanted  for  her  brother. 
She  forgot  the  usual  talk  of  patriotism  and  the 
glory  of  being  mangled  on  behalf  of  Hohen- 
zollerns. 

Yesterday  the  menservants  disappeared,  and 
women  waited  on  us.  There  was  no  jolt  in  the 
machinery.  It  went  on  as  smoothly  as  though 
the  change  had  been  weeks  ago.  Even  the  but- 
ler, who  certainly  is  too  old  to  fight,  vanished. 

Bernd  comes  in  whenever  he  can.  Luckily 
we're  quite  close  to  the  General  Staff  Head- 
quarters here,  and  he  has  his  meals  with  us. 
He  persists  that  the  war  will  be  kept  rigidly  to 
Austria  and  Servia,  and  therefore  will  be  over 
in  a  week  or  two.  He  says  Sir  Edward  Grey 
has  soothed  bellicose  governments  before  now, 
and  will  be  able  to  do  so  again.  He  talks  of 
the  madness  of  war,  and  of  how  no  Govern- 
ment nowadays  would  commit  such  a  sheer 
stupidity  as  starting  it.  I  listen  to  him,  and 
am  convinced  and  comforted ;  then  I  go  back  to 
the  others,  and  my  comfort  slips  away  again. 
For  the  others  are  so  sure.  There's  no  ques- 
tion for  them,  no  doubt.  They  don't  say 
so,  any  of  them,  neither  the  Graf,  nor  the 
Grafin,  nor  the  son  Werner  who  was  here  yes- 
terday nor  Bernd's  Colonel  who  dined  here  last 


CHRISTINE  187 

night,  nor  any  of  the  other  people,  Govern- 
ment officials  who  come  to  see  the  Graf,  and 
women  friends  who  come  to  see  the  Grafin. 
They  don't  say  war  is  certain,  but  each  one  of 
them  has  the  look  of  satisfaction  and  relief 
people  have  when  they  get  something  they've 
Avanted  very  much  for  a  very  long  time  and 
sigh  out  "At  last!"  Some  of  them  let  out  their 
satisfaction  more  than  others, — Bernd's  Col- 
onel, for  instance,  who  seems  particularly  hila- 
rious. He  was  very  hilarious  last  night, 
though  not  ostensibly  about  war.  If  the  possi- 
bility of  war  is  mentioned,  as  of  course  it  con- 
stantly is,  they  at  once  all  shake  their  heads  as 
if  to  order,  and  look  serious,  and  say  God  grant 
it  may  even  now  be  avoided,  or  something  like 
that;  just  as  the  newspapers  do.  And  lavt 
night  at  dinner  somebody  added  a  hope,  ex- 
pressed with  a  very  grave  face,  that  the  people 
of  Germany  wouldn't  get  out  of  hand  and 
force  war  upon  the  Government  against  its 
judgment. 

I  thought  that  rather  fuimy.  Kspecially 
after  two  hours  in  the  morning  with  Klos- 
ter,  who  explained  that  the  (Government  is 
arranging  everything  that  is  happening,  man- 
aging public  o|)ini()n,  creating  the  exact 
amount  of  enthusiasm  and   aggressiveness  it 


188  CHRISTINE 

wishes  to  have  behind  it,  just  as  it  did  in  1870 
when  it  wanted  to  bring  about  the  war  with 
France.  I  know  it  isn't  proper  for  a  junges 
Mddchen  to  talk  at  dinner  unless  she  is  asked 
a  question,  and  I  know  she  mustn't  have  an 
opinion  about  anything  except  bonbons  and 
flowers,  and  I  also  know  that  a  junges  Mad- 
chen  who  is  betrothed  is  expected  to  show  on  all 
occasions  such  extreme  modesty,  such  a  con- 
tinuous downcast  eye,  that  it  almost  amounts 
to  being  ashamed  of  herself;  yet  I  couldn't 
resist  leaning  across  the  table  to  the  man 
who  said  that,  a  high  official  in  the  Minis- 
terium  des  Innern,  and  saying  "But  your  pub- 
lic is  so  disciphned  and  your  Government  so 
almighty — "  and  was  going  on  to  ask  him  what 
grounds  he  had  for  his  fears  that  a  pubhc  in 
that  condition  would  force  the  Government's 
hand,  for  I  was  interested  and  wanted  dread- 
fully to  hear  what  he  would  say,  when  the 
Griifin  slipped  in,  smiling  gently. 

"My  dear  new  niece,"  she  said,  looking  round 
the  table  at  everybody,  "promises  to  become  a 
most  excellent  little  German.  See  how  she  al- 
ready recognizes  and  admires  our  restraint  on 
the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  our  power." 

The  Colonel,  who  was  sitting  on  one  side  of 
me,  laughed,  raised  his  glass,  and  begged  me  to 


CHRISTIXE  189 

permit  him  to  di'ink  my  health  and  the  health 
of  that  luckiest  of  young  men,  Lieutenant  von 
Inster.  "Old  England  forever !"  he  exclaimed, 
bowing  over  his  glass  to  me,  "The  England 
that  raises  such  fair  flowers  and  allows  Ger- 
many to  pluck  them.  Long  may  she  continue 
these  altruistic  activities.  Long  may  the 
homes  of  Germany  be  decorated  with  Eng- 
land's fairest  products." 

By  this  time  he  was  on  his  feet,  and  they  were 
toasting  England  and  me.  They  were  all 
quite  enthusiastic,  and  I  felt  so  proud  and 
pleased,  with  Bernd  sitting  beside  me  looking 
so  proud  and  pleased.  "England!"  they  called 
out,  lifting  their  glasses,  "England  and  the  new 
alliance!"  And  they  bowed  and  smiled  to  me, 
and  came  round  one  by  one  and  clinked  their 
glasses  against  mine. 

Then  l^crnd  had  to  make  a  little  speech 
and  thank  the  Colonel,  and  you  can't 
think  how  beautifully  lie  speaks,  and  not 
a  bit  shy,  and  saying  exactly  the  right  things. 
Then  tlie  Graf  actually  got  up  and  said 
something — I  expect  eti(juette  forced  him  to 
or  he  never  would  have — but  once  he  was  in 
for  it  he  did  it  Avith  the  same  unfaltering 
fluency  and  approi)riateness  that  Bernd  liad 
surprised  me  with.     He  said  they — the  Koser- 


190  CHRISTINE 

itzes  and  Insters — welcomed  the  proposed  mar- 
riage between  Bernd  and  myself,  not  alone  for 
the  many  graces,  virtues,  and,  above  all  gifts 
—  (picture  the  abstracted  Graf  reehng  off  these 
compliments !  You  should  have  seen  my  open 
mouth) — that  so  happily  adorned  the  young 
lady,  great  and  numerous  though  they  were, 
but  also  because  such  a  marriage  would  still 
further  cement  the  already  close  union  existing 
between  two  great  countries  of  the  same  faith, 
the  same  blood,  and  the  same  ideals.  "Long 
may  these  two  countries,"  he  said,  "who  carry 
in  their  hands  the  blazing  torches  of  humanity 
and  civilization,  march  abreast  down  the  pages 
of  history,  writing  it  in  glorious  letters  as  they 
march."  Then  he  sat  down,  and  instantly  re- 
lapsed into  silence  and  abstraction.  It  was  as 
if  a  candle  had  been  blown  out. 

They're  all  certainly  very  kind  to  me,  the 
people  I've  met  here,  and  say  the  nicest  things 
about  England.  They're  in  love  with  her,  as  I 
used  to  tell  Frau  Berg's  boarders,  but  openly 
and  enthusiastically,  not  angrily  and  reluc- 
tantly as  the  boarders  were.  I've  not  heard 
so  many  nice  things  about  England  ever  as  I 
did  yesterday.  I  loved  hearing  them,  and  felt 
all  lit  up. 

We  went  out  on  the  balcony  overlooking  the 


CHRISTINE  191 

Thiergarten  after  dinner.  The  Graf's  chief 
had  sent  for  him,  and  Bernd  and  some  of  the 
men  had  gone  away  too,  but  more  people  kept 
dropping  in  and  joining  us  on  the  balcony 
watching  the  crowds.  The  Brandenburger 
Thor  is  close  on  our  left,  and  the  Reichstag  is  a 
stone's  throw  across  the  road  on  our  right. 
When  the  crowd  saw  the  officers  in  our  group, 
they  yelled  for  joy  and  flung  their  hats  in  the 
air.  The  Colonel,  in  his  staff  officer's  uniform, 
was  the  chief  attraction.  He  seemed  unaware 
that  there  was  a  crowd,  and  talked  to  me  in 
nmch  the  same  hilarious  and  flowery  strain  he 
had  talked  at  the  Oberforsterei,  saying  a  great 
number  of  things  about  hair  and  eyes  and  such. 
1  know  I've  got  hair  and  eyes;  I've  had  them 
all  my  life,  so  what's  the  use  of  wasting  time 
telling  me  about  them  if  I  tried  all  I  knew  to 
get  him  to  talk  about  what  he  really  thought  of 
the  chances  of  war,  but  cjuite  in  vain. 

Do  you  know  wliat  time  it  is?  Nearly  eiglit, 
and  the  Dcut.s-chlaud  iihcr  AUcs  business  has 
already  started  in  the  streets.  There  are  little 
crowds  of  peoj)lc,  looking  so  tiny  and  black, 
not  a  bit  as  if  they  were  real,  and  had 
blood  in  them  and  could  be  hurt,  already 
on  tlie  steps  of  tbc  Reichstag  eagerly 
reading    the    morning    papers.     I    must    get 


192  CHRISTINE 

dressed  and  go  down  and  hear  if  anything  fresh 
has  happened.  Good-bye  my  own  loved 
mother, — I'll  write  whenever  I  get  a  moment. 
And  don't  forget,  mother  darling,  that  if  you're 
worried  about  my  being  here  I'll  start  straight 
off  for  Switzerland.  But  if  you're  not  wor- 
ried I  wouldn't  hke  to  interrupt  my  lessons. 
They  really  are  very  important  things  for  our 
future. 

Your  Chris. 


Berlin, 

Friday  afternoon,  July  31st. 
^ly  sweetest  mother, 

Your  letters  have  been  following  me  about, 
tu  Koseritz  and  to  Frau  Berg's,  where 
of  course  you  didn't  know  I  wouldn't 
be.  I  went  to  Frau  Berg's  today  and 
found  your  last  two.  I  love  you,  my 
precious  mother,  and  thank  you  for  all  your 
dearness  and  sweet  unselfish  understanding 
about  Bernd  and  me.  You  have  always  been 
my  closest,  dearest  friend,  as  well  as  my  own 
darling  mother.  I  seem  now  to  be  living  in 
a  sort  of  bath  of  love.  Can  anything  more  ever 
be  added  to  it?  I  feel  as  if  1  had  reached  the 
very  innermost  heart  of  hap})iness.  Wonder- 
ful how  one  carries  about  sucli  a  precious  con- 
sciousness. It's  like  souicthirig  magic  and  hid- 
den that  takes  care  of  one,  keeping  one  un- 
touclicd  and  unharmed;  wliilc  outside,  day  and 
night,  there's  this  terrible  noise  of  a  peoi)le 
gone  mad. 

You  wrote  to  me  last  sitting  under  a  cherry 
tree,  you  iwiid,  in  the  orchard  at  the  back  of 
your  hotel  at  Cihon,  and  you  talked  of  the  col- 


194  CHRISTINE 

our  of  the  lake  far  down  below  through  the 
leaves  of  walnut  trees,  and  of  the  utter  peace. 
Here  day  and  night,  day  and  night,  since  Wed- 
nesday, soldiers  in  new  grey  uniforms  pass 
through  the  Brandenburger  Thor  down  the 
broad  road  to  Charlottenburg.  Their  tramj^ 
never  stops.  I  can  see  them  from  my  window 
tramping,  tramping  away  down  the  great 
straight  road;  and  crowds  that  don't  seem  to 
change  or  dwindle  watch  them  and  shout. 
Where  do  the  soldiers  all  come  from?  I  never 
dreamed  there  could  be  so  many  in  the  world, 
let  alone  in  Berlin;  and  Germany  isn't  even  at 
war!  But  it's  no  use  asking  questions,  or  try- 
ing to  talk  about  it.  I've  found  the  word 
"Why?"  in  this  house  is  not  only  useless  but 
improper.  Nobody  will  talk  about  anything; 
I  suppose  they  don't  need  to,  for  they  all  seem 
perfectly  to  know.  They're  in  the  inner  cii'cle 
in  this  house.  They're  not  the  pubhc.  The 
l^ublic  is  that  shouting,  perspiring  mob  out 
there  watching  the  soldiers,  and  Frau  Berg  and 
her  boarders  are  the  public,  and  so  are  the  sol- 
diers themselves.  The  public  here  are  all  the 
people  who  obey,  and  pay,  and  don't  know;  an 
immense  multitude  of  slaves, — abject,  greedy, 
pitiful.  I  don't  think  I  ever  could  have  im- 
agined a  thing  so  pitiful  to  see  as  these  respect- 


CHRISTINE  195 

able  middle-aged  Berlin  citizens,  fathers  of 
families,  careful  livers  on  small  incomes,  clerks, 
pastors,  teachers,  professors,  drunk  and  mad 
out  there  publicly  on  the  pavement,  dancing 
with  joy  because  they  think  the  great  moment 
they've  been  taught  to  wait  for  has  come,  and 
they're  going  to  get  suddenly  rich,  scoop  in 
wealth  from  Russia  and  France,  get  up  to  the 
top  of  the  world  and  be  able  to  kick  it.  That's 
what  I  saw  over  and  over  again  today  as  I 
somehow  got  through  to  Frau  Berg's  to  fetch 
your  letters.  An  ordinary  person  from  an  or- 
dinary country  wants  to  cover  these  heated 
elderly  gentlemen  up,  and  hide  them  out  of 
sight,  so  shocking  are  they  to  one's  sense  of 
respect  and  reverence  for  human  beings.  Im- 
agine decent  citizens,  paunchy  and  soft  with 
beer  and  sitting  in  offices,  wearing  cheap  straw 
hats  and  carel'ully  mended  and  brushed  black 
coats,  dandiuj  with  excitement  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  nobody  thinking  it  anything  but  fine 
and  creditable,  at  tlie  prospect  of  their  chil- 
dren's blood  going  to  be  shed,  and  everyl)o(ly's 
children's  blood,  exce])t  the  blood  of  those  safe 
children,  the  children  of  the  Ilohenzollcrns! 

The  weather  is  fiercely  hot.  There's  a 
brassy  sky  without  a  cloud,  and  all  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  in  the  Thiergarten  arc  shiny  and 


196  CHRISTINE 

motionless  as  if  they  were  cut  out  of  metal.  A 
little  haze  of  dust  hangs  perpetually  along  the 
Lindens  and  the  road  to  Charlottenburg, — • 
not  much  of  it,  because  the  roads  are  too  well 
kept,  but  enough  to  show  that  the  troops  never 
leave  off  tramping.  And  all  down  where  they 
pass,  on  each  side,  are  the  perspiring  crowds  of 
people,  red  and  apoplectic  with  excitement  and 
heat,  women  and  children  and  babies  mixed  up 
in  one  heaving,  frantic  mass.  The  windows  of 
the  houses  on  each  side  of  the  Brandenburger 
Thor  are  packed  with  people  all  day  long,  and 
the  noise  of  patriotism  doesn't  lea^e  off  for  an 
instant. 

It's  a  very  ugly  noise.  The  only  place 
where  I  can  get  away  from  it — and  I  do 
hate  noise,  it  really  hurts  my  ears — is  the  bath- 
room here,  which  is  a  dark  cupboard  with  no 
window,  in  the  very  middle  of  the  house.  I 
thought  it  a  dreadful  bathroom  when  I  first  saw 
it,  but  now  I'm  grateful  that  it  can't  be  aired. 
The  house  was  built  years  and  years  before 
Germans  began  to  wash,  and  it  wasn't  till  the 
Koseritzes  came  that  a  bath  was  wanted. 
Then  it  had  to  be  put  in  any  hole,  and  this  hole 
is  the  one  place  where  there  is  silence.  Every- 
where else,  in  every  room  in  the  house,  it  is  as  if 
one  were  Hving  next  door  to  a  dozen  public 


CHRISTINE  197 

houses  in  the  worst  slums  of  London  and  it 
were  always  Saturday  night.  I  do  think  the 
patriotism  of  an  unattacked,  aggressive  coun- 
try is  a  hideous  thing. 

Bernd  got  me  somehow  through  the  crowd  to 
the  calmer  streets  on  the  way  to  Frau  Berg. 
He  didn't  want  me  to  go  out  at  all,  but  I 
want  to  see  what  I  can.  The  Kaiser  rushed 
through  the  Brandenburger  Thor  in  his  car  as 
we  went  out.  You  never  saw  such  a  scene  as 
then.  It  was  frightening,  like  a  mob  of  luna- 
tics let  loose.  Every  time  he  is  seen  tearing 
along  the  streets  there's  this  wild  scene,  Bernd 
says.  He  has  suddenly  leaped  to  the  topmost 
top  of  popularity,  for  he's  the  dispenser  now 
of  the  great  lotterj'  in  which  all  the  draws  are 
going  to  be  prizes.  You  know  there  isn't  a 
Cierman,  not  the  cleverest,  not  the  most  sober, 
who  doesn't  regularly  and  solemnly  buy  lottery 
tickets.  Aren't  they,  apart  from  all  the  other 
things  they  are,  the  funniest  people.  So  im- 
mature in  wisdom,  so  top-heavy  with  dangerous 
knowledge  that  their  youngness  in  wisdom 
makes  them  use  wrongly.  If  they  hadn't  got 
tlic  latest  things  in  guns  and  equipment  they 
would  be  quiet,  and  wouldn't  think  of 
fighting. 

Bernd  made  me  promise  to  wait  at  Frau 


198  CHRISTINE 

Berg's  till  he  could  fetch  me,  and  as  he  didn't 
get  back  till  two  o'clock,  and  Frau  Berg  very 
amiably  said  I  must  be  her  guest  at  the  well- 
known  mid-day  meal,  I  found  myself  once 
more  in  the  bosom  of  the  boarders.  Only  this 
time  I  sat  proudly  on  Frau  Berg's  right,  in  the 
place  of  honour  next  to  Doctor  Krummlaut, 
instead  of  in  the  obscurity  of  my  old  seat  at  the 
dark  end  near  the  door. 

It  was  so  queer,  and  so  different.  There 
was  the  same  Wanda,  resting  her  dishes  on  my 
left  shoulder,  which  she  always  used  to  do,  not 
only  so  as  to  attract  my  attention  but  as  a  con- 
venience to  herself,  because  they  were  hot  and 
heavy.  There  were  the  same  boarders,  except 
the  red-mouthed  bank-clerk  and  another  young 
man.  Hilda  Seeberg  was  there,  and  the 
Swede,  and  Doctor  Krummlaut ;  and  of  course 
Frau  Berg,  massive  hi  her  tight  black  dress 
buttoned  up  the  front  without  a  collar  to  it, 
the  big  brooch  she  fastens  it  with  at  the  neck 
half  hidden  by  her  impressive  double  chins, 
which  flow  down  as  majestically  as  a  patriarch's 
beard.  We  had  the  same  food,  the  same  heat, 
and  I'm  sure  the  same  flies.  But  the  nervous 
tension  there  used  to  be,  the  tendency  to  quar- 
rel, the  pugnacious  political  arguing  with  me, 
the  gibes  at  England,  were  gone.     I  don't 


CHRISTINE  199 

know  whether  it  was  because  I'm  engaged  to  a 
Prussian  officer  that  they  were  so  very  pohte — 
I  was  tremendously  congratulated, — but  they 
were  certainly  different  about  England.  It 
may  of  course  have  been  then-  general  happi- 
ness— happiness  makes  one  so  kind  all  round! 
— for  here  too  was  the  content,  the  satisfac- 
tion of  those  who,  after  painful  waiting,  get 
what  they  want.  It  was  expressed  very  nois- 
ily, not  with  the  restraint  of  the  Koseritzes,  but 
it  was  the  same  thing  reall5\  The  Berg  atmos- 
phere was  more  like  the  one  in  the  streets. 
Where  the  Griifin  in  her  pleasure  became  only 
more  calm,  the  boarders  were  abandoned, — ex- 
cited like  savages  dancing  round  the  fire  their 
victims  are  to  roast  at.  Frau  Berg  rumbled 
and  shook  with  her  relief,  like  some  great  earth- 
quake, and  didn't  mind  a  bit  apparently  about 
the  tremendous  rise  there  has  })ccn  in  prices  this 
week.  W'liat  will  slie  get,  1  wonder,  by  war, 
except  struggle  and  difliculty  and  departing 
boarders?  Being  a  guest,  1  had  to  be  polite 
and  let  them  say  what  they  liked  without 
protest, — really,  the  disabilities  of  guests!  I 
couldn't  argue,  as  I  would  have  if  I'd  still  been 
a  l)oardcr,  which  was  a  pity,  for  meanwhile  I've 
learned  a  lot  of  (iciiiian  and  could  have  said  a 
great  many  things  and  been  as  natural  as  I 


200  CHRISTINE 

liked  here  away  from  the  Grafin's  gentle  smile 
reminding  me  that  I'm  not  behaving.  But  I 
had  to  sit  and  listen  smilingly,  and  of  course 
show  none  of  my  horror  at  their  attitude,  for 
more  muzzling  even  than  being  a  guest  is  being 
the  betrothed  of  a  Prussian  officer.  They 
don't  know  what  sort  of  a  Prussian  officer  he 
is,  how  different,  how  truly  educated,  how  full 
of  dislike  for  the  base  things  they  worship  and 
want;  and  he,  caught  by  birth  in  the  Prussian 
chains,  shall  not  be  betrayed  by  me  who  love 
him.  Here  he  is,  caught  anyhow  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  he  must  do  his  duty;  but  someday 
we're  going  away, — he,  and  I,  and  you,  little 
mother  darling,  when  there's  no  war  anywhere 
in  sight  and  therefore  no  duty  to  stay  for,  and 
we'll  go  and  live  in  America,  and  he'll  take  off 
all  those  buttons  and  spurs  and  things,  and 
we'll  give  ourselves  up  to  freedom,  and  harm- 
lessness,  and  art,  and  beauty,  and  we'll  have 
friends  who  neither  intrigue,  which  is  what  the 
class  at  the  top  here  lives  by,  nor  who  waste 
their  lives  being  afraid,  which  is  what  all  the 
other  classes  here  spend  their  lives  being. 

"At  last  we  are  going  to  wipe  off  old  scores 
against  France,"  Doctor  Krummlaut  splut- 
tered through  his  soup  today  at  Frau  Berg's 
with  shining  eyes, — I  should  have  thought  it 


CHRISTINE  201 

was  France  who  had  the  old  scores  that  need 
wiping — "and  Russia,  the  barbarian  Colossus, 
will  topple  over  and  choke  in  its  own  blood." 

Then  Frau  Berg  capped  that  with  sentiments 
even  more  bloodthirsty. 

Then  the  Swede,  who  never  used  to  speak, 
actually  raised  her  voice  in  terms  of  blood  too, 
and  expressed  a  wish  to  see  a  Cossack  sti*ung 
up  by  his  heels  to  every  electric-hght  standard 
along  the  Lindens. 

Then  Hilda  Seeberg  said  if  her  Papa — that 
Papa  she  told  me  once  she  hadn't  at  all  liked — 
were  only  alive,  it  would  be  the  proudest 
moment  of  his  life  when,  at  the  head  of  his  regi- 
ment, he  would  go  forth  to  slay  President  Poin- 
care.  "And  if,"  she  said,  her  eyes  flashing, 
"owing  to  his  high  years  his  regiment  was  no 
longer  al)le  to  accept  his  heroic  leadership,  he 
would,  I  know,  proceed  secretly  to  France  as 
an  assassin,  and  bomb  the  infamous  Poincarc, 
— bomb  him  in  the  name  of  our  Kaiser,  of  our 
Fatherland,  and  of  our  God." 

"Amen,"  said  Frau  Berg,  very  loud. 

I  flew  to  Bernd  when  lie  came.  It  was  ns 
if  a  door  had  been  flung  open,  and  the  fresh- 
ness and  sanity  of  early  morning  came  into  the 
room  when  lie  did.     I  hung  on  his  arm,  ai^d 


202  CHRISTINE 

looked  up  into  his  dear  shrewd  eyes,  so  clear 
and  kind,  so  full  of  wisdom.  The  boarders 
were  with  one  accord  servile  to  him;  even  Doc- 
tor Krummlaut,  a  clever  man  with  far  better 
brains  probably  than  Bernd.  Bernd,  from 
habit,  stiffened  and  became  unapproachable  the 
instant  the  middle  class  pubhc  in  the  shape 
of  the  congratulatory  boarders  appeared.  He 
doesn't  even  know  he's  like  that,  his  training 
has  made  it  second  nature.  You  should  have 
seen  his  lofty,  complete  indifference.  It  was 
di'cadfully  rude  really,  and  oh  how  they  loved 
him  for  it !  They  simply  adored  him,  and  were 
ready  to  lick  his  boots.  It  was  so  funny  to  see 
them  sidling  about  him,  all  of  them  wagging 
their  tails.  He  was  the  master,  come  among 
the  slaves.  But  to  think  that  even  Doctor 
Krummlaut  should  sidle ! 

There's  a  most  terrific  ecctra  noise  going  on 
outside.  I  can  hardly  hear  myself  write.  I 
don't  know  whether  to  run  and  find  out  what 
it  is,  or  retreat  to  the  bathroom.  My  ears 
won't  stand  much  more, — I  shall  get  deaf,  and 
not  be  able  to  play. 

Later. 

"What  has  happened  is  that  special  editions 
of  the  papers  have  appeared  announcing  that 


CHRISTINE  203 

the  Kaiser  has  decreed  a  state  of  war  for  the 
whole  of  Germany.  Well.  They've  done  it 
now.  For  I  did  extract  from  a  very  cheerful- 
looking  caller  I  met  coming  upstairs  to  the 
drawingroom  that  a  state  of  war  is  followed  as 
inevitably  by  the  real  thing  as  a  German  be- 
trothal is  followed  by  marriage.  One  is  as 
committal  as  the  other,  he  said.  It  is  the  rar- 
est thing,  and  produces  an  immense  scandal, 
for  an  engagement  to  be  broken  off;  and,  ex- 
plained the  caller  looking  extremely  pleased, — 
he  was  a  man-caller,  and  therefore  more  willing 
to  stop  and  talk — to  proceed  backwards  from 
a  state  of  war  to  the  status  quo  ante  might  pro- 
duce the  unthinkable  result  of  costing  the 
Kaiser  his  throne. 

"You  can  imagine,  my  most  gracious  INIiss," 
said  the  caller,  "that  His  Majesty  would  never 
permit  a  calamity  so  colossal  to  overtake  his 
people,  whose  welfare  he  has  continually  and 
exclusively  in  his  all-highest  thoughts.  There- 
fore you  may  take  it  from  me  as  completely 
certain  that  war  is  now  assured." 

"But  nobody  has  done  anything  to  you,"  I 
said. 

He  gazed  at  me  a  moment,  and  then  smiled. 
"High    politics,    and    httle    heads,"    he    said. 


204  CHRISTINE 

"High  politics,  and  little  women's  heads, — " 
and  went  on  up  the  stairs  smiling  and  shaking 
his  own. 

I  do  wish  they  wouldn't  keep  on  talking  as 
though  my  head  were  so  dreadfully  small. 
Never  in  my  life  have  people  taken  so  utterly 
and  complacently  for  granted  that  I'm  stupid. 

Well,  I  feel  very  sick  at  heart.  How  long 
will  it  be  before  Bernd  too  will  be  one  of  that 
marching  column  on  the  Charlottenburger 
Chaussee.  He  won't  go  away  from  me  that 
way,  I  know.  He's  on  the  Staff,  and  will  go 
more  splendidh^ ;  but  those  men  in  the  new  grey 
uniforms  tramping  day  and  night  are  symbols 
each  one  of  them  of  departing  happiness,  of  a 
closed  chapter,  of  the  end  of  something  that 
can  never  be  the  same  again. 

Your  tired  Cliris. 


Before  Breakfast, 
Berlin,  Sat.,  Aug,  1st,  1914, 
^ly  blessed  little  mother, 

I've  seen  a  thing  I  don't  suppose  I'll  forget. 
It  was  yesterday,  after  the  news  came  that  Ger- 
many had  sent  Russia  an  ultimatum  about  in- 
stantly demobilizing,  demanding  an  answer  by 
eleven  this  morning.  The  sensation  when  this 
was  known  was  tremendous.  The  Griifin  was 
shaken  out  of  her  calm  into  exclamations  of  joy 
and  fear, — joy  that  tlie  step  had  been  taken, 
fear  lest  Russia  should  obey,  and  there  be  no 
war  after  all. 

We  had  to  shut  the  windows  to  be  able  to 
hear  ourselves  talk.  Some  women  friends  of 
the  Griifin's  who  were  here — we  had  no  men 
with  us — instantly  left  to  drive  by  back  streets 
to  the  Schk^ssplatz  to  see  the  sight  it  must  be 
there,  and  the  Griifin,  saying  that  we  too  must 
witness  the  greatest  liistory  of  the  world's 
greatest  nation  in  tlie  making,  sent  for  a  taxi 
— her  cliauffeur  lias  gone — and  prepared  to 
i'oHow.  We  had  to  wait  ages  for  the  taxi,  but 
it  was  lucky  we  had  to,  else  we  might  have  gone 

2f).-, 


20G  CHRISTINE 

and  come  back  and  missed  seeing  the  Kaiser 
come  out  and  speak  to  the  crowd.  We  went  a 
long  way  round,  but  even  so  all  Germany 
seemed  to  be  streaming  towards  the  Lindens 
and  the  part  at  the  end  where  the  palace  is. 
I  don't  expect  we  ever  would  have  got  there  if 
it  hadn't  been  that  a  cousin  of  the  Grafin's,  a 
very  smart  young  officer  in  the  Guards,  saw  us 
in  the  taxi  as  it  was  vainly  trying  to  cross  the 
Friedrichstrasse,  and  flicking  the  obstructing 
policemen  on  one  side  with  a  sort  of  little  kick 
of  his  spur,  came  up  all  amazement  and  salutes 
to  inquire  of  his  most  gracious  cousin  what  in 
the  world  she  was  doing  in  a  taxi.  He  said  it 
was  hopeless  to  try  to  get  to  the  Schlossplatz 
in  it,  but  if  we  would  allow  him  to  escort  us  on 
foot  he  would  be  proud — the  gracious  cousin 
would  permit  him  to  offer  her  his  arm,  and  the 
young  ladies  would  keep  very  close  behind  him. 
So  we  set  out,  and  it  was  surprising  the  way 
he  got  us  through.  If  the  crowd  didn't  fall 
apart  instantly  of  itself  at  his  approach,  an 
obsequious  policeman — one  of  those  same  Ber- 
lin policemen  who  are  so  rude  to  one  if  one  is 
alone  and  really  in  need  of  help — sprang  up 
from  nowhere  and  made  it.  It's  as  far  from 
the  Friedrichstrasse  to  the  Schlossplatz  as  it  is 
from  here  to  the  Friedrichstrasse,  but  we  did 


CHRISTINE  207 

it  very  much  quicker  than  we  did  the  first  half 
in  the  taxi,  and  when  we  reached  it  there  they 
all  were,  the  drunken  crowds — that's  the  word 
that  most  exactly  describes  them — ^yelling, 
swaying,  cursing  the  ones  in  their  way  or  who 
trod  on  their  feet,  shouting  hurrahs  and  bits 
of  patriotic  songs,  every  one  of  them  decently 
dressed,  obviously  respectable  people  in  ordi- 
nary times.  That's  what  is  so  constantly 
strange  to  me, — these  solid  burghers  and  their 
famihes  behaving  like  drunken  hooligans. 
Somehow  a  spectacled  professor  with  a  golden 
chain  across  his  blackwaistcoated  and  imj)res- 
sive  front,  just  roaring  incoherently,  just  open- 
ing his  mouth  and  hurling  any  sort  of  noise  out 
of  it  till  the  veins  on  his  neck  and  forehead  look 
as  though  they  would  burst,  is  the  strangest 
sight  in  the  world  to  me.  I  can  imagine  noth- 
ing stranger,  nothing  that  makes  one  more  un- 
comfortable and  ashamed.  It  is  wbat  will 
always  jump  up  before  my  eyes  in  the  future  at 
the  words  German  patriotism.  And  to  see  a 
stout  elderly  lady,  who  ought  to  be  presiding 
with  slow  dignity  in  some  ordered  home,  hoarse 
with  shouting,  tear  the  feathered  hat  she  other- 
wise only  uses  tenderly  on  Sundays  off  her 
respectable  grey  head  and  wave  it  frantically, 
screaming  hochs  every  time  a  prince  is  seen  or  a 


208  CHRISTINE 

general  or  one  of  the  ministers,  makes  one  want 
to  ery  with  shame  at  the  indignity  put  upon 
poor  human  beings,  at  the  exploiting  of  their 
passions,  in  the  interests  of  one  family. 

The  Grafin's  smart  cousin  got  us  on  to  some 
steps  and  stood  with  us,  so  that  we  should  not 
be  pushed  off  them  instantly  again,  as  we 
would  have  been  if  he  had  left  us.  I  think  they 
were  the  steps  of  a  statue,  or  fountain,  or  some- 
thing hke  that,  but  the  whole  whatever  it  was 
was  so  covered  with  people,  encrusted  with 
them  just  like  one  of  those  sticky  fly-sticks  is 
black  with  flies,  that  I  don't  know  what  it  was 
reall3^  I  only  know  that  it  wasn't  a  house,  and 
that  we  were  quite  close  to  the  palace,  and  able 
to  look  down  at  the  sea  beneath  us,  the  heav- 
ing, roaring  sea  of  distorted  red  faces,  all  with 
their  mouths  wide  open,  all  blistering  and 
streaming  in  the  sun. 

The  Grafin,  who  had  recovered  her  calm  in 
the  presence  of  her  inferiors  of  the  middle 
classes,  put  up  her  eyeglasses  and  examined 
them  with  interest  and  indulgence.  Helena 
stared.  The  cousin  twisted  his  little  mous- 
tache, standing  beside  us  protectingly,  very 
elegant  and  slender  and  nonchalant,  and  re- 
marked at  intervals,  "Fahelhafte  Enthusias- 
mus,  was?" 


CHPaSTIXE  209 

It  came  into  my  mind  that  Beerbohm  Tree 
must  sometimes  look  on  like  that  at  a  successful 
dress  rehearsal  of  his  well-managed  stage 
>crowds,  with  the  same  nonchalant  satisfaction 
at  the  excellent  results,  so  well  up  to  time,  of 
careful  preparation. 

Of  course  I  said  "Colossal"  to  the  cousin, 
when  he  expressed  his  satisfaction  more  par- 
ticularly to  me. 

"Dreckiges  Folk,  die  Russen"  he  remarked, 
twisting  his  little  moustache's  ends  up.  "Wer- 
den  lernen  was  es  lieisst,  frech  sein  gegen  uns. 
Wollen  sie  blau  mid  Schwartz  drescheii/' 

You  know  German,  so  I  needn't  take  its 
])eculiar  flavour  out  by  transplanting  the 
young  man's  remarks. 

"Oh  i^ardon — aher  meine  Gnddigste — tau- 
scndmal  pardon — "  he  protested  the  next  min- 
ute in  a  voice  of  trementlous  solicitude,  having 
I)een  pushed  rather  hard  and  suddenly  against 
me  ])y  a  little  boy  who  had  scrambled  down  off 
wJiatever  it  was  he  was  hanging  on  to;  and  he 
turned  on  the  little  boy,  who  I  believe  liad  tum- 
bled off  rather  than  scrambled,  with  his  hand 
flashing  to  his  sword,  ready  to  slash  at  whoever 
it  vv'as  had  dared  push  against  him,  an  officer; 
and  seeing  it  was  a  child  and  therefore  not  .s'<7//.s'- 
f actions fdhig  as  ihcy  say,  be  merely  called  him 


210  CHRISTINE 

an  in  fame  and  verjiuchte  Bcngel  and  smacked 
his  face  so  hard  that  he  would  have  been 
knocked  down  if  there  had  been  room  to  fall  in. 

As  it  was,  he  was  only  hurled  violently, 
against  the  side  of  a  man  in  a  black  coat  and 
straw  hat  who  looked  like  an  elderly  confi- 
dential clerk,  so  respectable  and  complete  with 
his  short  grey  beard  and  spectacles,  who  was 
evidently  the  father,  for  he  instantly  on  his  own 
account  smacked  the  boy  on  his  other  ear,  and 
sweeping  off  his  hat  entreated  the  Herr 
Leutnant  to  forgive  the  boy  on  account  of  his 
extreme  youth. 

The  cousin,  whom  by  now  I  didn't  like,  was 
beginning  very  severely  to  advise  the  parent 
jolly  well  to  see  to  it,  or  German  words  to  that 
effect,  that  his  idiotic  boy  didn't  repeat  such 
insolences,  or  by  hell,  etc.,  etc.,  when  there  was 
such  a  blast  of  extra  noise  and  hurrahing  that 
the  rest  of  his  remarks  were  knocked  out  of  his 
mouth.  It  was  the  Kaiser,  come  out  on  the 
balcony  of  the  palace. 

The  cousin  became  rigid,  and  stood  at  the 
salute.  The  air  seemed  full  of  hats  and  hand- 
kerchiefs and  delirious  shrieking.  The  Kaiser 
put  up  his  hand. 

"Majestiit  is  going  to  speak,"  exclaimed  the 
Griifin,  her  cakn  fluttered  into  fragments. 


CHRISTINE  2111 

There  was  an  immense  instantaneous  hush, 
uncanny  after  all  the  noise.  Only  the  little 
boy  with  the  boxed  ears  continued  to  call  out, 
but  not  patriotically.  His  father,  efficient  and 
Prussian,  j)ut  a  stop  to  that  by  seizing  his  head, 
buttoning  it  up  inside  his  black  coat,  and  hold- 
ing his  arm  tightly  over  it,  so  that  no  struggles 
of  suffocation  could  get  it  free.  There  was  no 
more  noise,  but  the  little  boy's  legs,  desperately 
twitching,  kicked  their  dusty  little  boots  against 
the  cousin's  shins,  and  he,  standing  at  the  salute 
with  his  body  rigidly  turned  towards  JMajestiit, 
was  unable  to  take  the  steps  his  outraged 
honour,  let  alone  the  pain  in  his  shins,  called 
for. 

I  was  so  much  interested  in  this  situation, 
really  absorbed  by  it,  for  the  little  boy  uncon- 
sciously was  getting  quite  a  lot  of  his  own  back, 
his  little  boots  being  sturdy  and  studded  with 
nails,  and  the  father,  all  eyes  and  ears  for 
^lajestiit,  not  aware  of  what  was  happening, 
that  positively  I  missed  the  first  part  of  the 
speech.  But  what  I  did  hear  was  immensely 
impressive.  I  had  seen  the  Kaiser  before,  you 
remember;  that  time  he  was  in  London  witli 
the  Kaiserin,  in  1012  or  1913  I  think  it  was, 
and  we  were  staying  with  Aunt  iVngek'i  in  Wil- 
ton Crescent  and  we  saw  him  driving  one  after- 


212  CHRISTINE 

noon  in  a  barouche  down  Birdcage  Walk.  Do 
you  remember  how  cross  he  looked,  hardly  re- 
turning the  salutations  he  got?  We  said  he 
and  she  must  have  been  quarrelling,  he  looked 
so  sulky.  And  do  you  remember  how  ordi- 
nary he  looked  in  his  top  hat  and  black  coat, 
just  like  any  cross  and  bored  middle-class  hus- 
band? There  was  nothing  royal  about  him 
that  day  except  the  liveries  on  the  servants,  and 
they  were  England's.  Yesterday  things  were 
very  different.  He  really  did  look  like  the 
royal  prince  of  a  picture  book,  a  real  War 
Lord, — impressive  and  glittering  with  orders 
flashing  in  the  sun.  We  were  near  enough  to 
see  him  perfectly.  There  v/asn't  much  cross- 
ness or  boredom  about  him  this  time.  He  was, 
I  am  certain,  thoroughly  enjoying  himself, — 
unconsciously  of  course,  but  with  that  immense 
thrilled  enjoyment  all  leading  figures  at  lead- 
ing moments  must  have :  Sir  Galahad,  humbly 
glorying  in  his  perfect  achievement  of  nega- 
tions ;  Parsifal,  engulfed  in  an  ecstasy  of  hum- 
ble gloating  over  his  own  worthiness  as  he  holds 
up  the  Grail  high  above  bowed,  adoring  heads ; 
Beerbohm  Tree — I  can't  get  away  from  theat- 
rical analogies — coming  before  the  curtain  on 
his  most  successful  first  night,  meek  with  hap- 
piness.    Hasn't  it  run  through  the  ages,  this 


CHRISTINE  213 

great  humility  at  the  moment  of  supreme 
success,  this  moved  self-depreciation  of  the  man 
who  has  puUed  it  off,  the  "Not  unto  us,  O  Lord, 
not  unto  us"  attitude, — quite  genuine  at  the 
moment,  and  because  quite  genuine  so  extraor- 
dinarily moving  and  impressive?  Really  one 
couldn't  wonder  at  the  people.  The  Empress 
was  there,  and  a  lot  of  officers  and  princes  and 
people,  but  it  was  the  Emperor  alone  that  we 
looked  at.  He  came  and  stood  by  himself  in 
front  of  the  others.  He  was  very  grave,  with 
a  real  look  of  solemn  exaltation.  Here  was 
royalty  in  all  its  most  impressive  trappings,  a 
prince  of  the  fairy-tales,  splendidly  dressed, 
dilated  of  nostril,  flashing  of  eye,  the  defender 
of  homes,  the  leader  to  glory,  the  object  of  the 
nation's  worship  and  behef  and  prayers  since 
each  of  its  members  was  a  baby,  become  visible 
and  audible  to  tliousands  who  had  never  seen 
him  before,  who  had  worshipped  him  by  faith 
only.  It  was  as  though  the  people  were  sud- 
denly allowed  to  look  upon  God.  There  wa^ 
a  profound  awe  in  the  hush.  I  believe  if  they 
hadn't  been  so  tightly  packed  together  they 
would  all  have  knelt  down. 

Well,  it  is  easy  to  stir  a  mol).  One  knows 
how  easily  one  is  moved  oneself  by  the  cheap- 
est emotions,  by  something  that  catches  one  on 


214  CHRISTINE 

the  sentimental  side,  on  that  side  of  one  that 
through  all  the  years  has  still  stayed  clinging 
to  one's  mother's  knee.  We've  often  talked 
of  this,  you  and  I,  little  mother.  You  know 
the  sort  of  thing,  and  hav^e  got  that  side  your- 
self,— even  you,  you  dear  objective  one.  The 
three  things  up  to  now  that  have  got  me  most 
on  that  side,  got  me  on  the  very  raw  of  it — 
I'll  tell  you  now,  now  that  I  can't  see  your 
amused  eyes  looking  at  me  with  that  little  quiz- 
zical questioning  in  them — the  three  things  that 
have  broken  my  heart  each  time  I've  come 
across  them  and  made  me  only  want  to  sob  and 
sob,  are  when  Kurwenal,  mortally  wounded, 
crawls  blindly  to  Tristan's  side  and  says, 
"Scliilt  mich  nicht  dass  der  Treue  auch  rnit- 
kommtr  and  Siegfried's  dying  ''Brunnhild, 
heilige  Braut"  and  Tannhauser's  dying  "Heil- 
ige  Elisabeth,  bitte  fur  mich."  All  three  Ger- 
man things,  you  see.  All  morbid  things.  Most 
of  the  sentimentality  seems  to  have  come  from 
Germany,  an  essentially  brutal  place.  But  of 
course  sentimentality  is  really  diluted  morbid- 
ness, and  therefore  first  cousin  to  cruelty.  And 
I  have  a  real  and  healthy  dislike  for  that  Tann- 
hauser  opera. 

But  seeing  how  the  best  of  us — which  is  you 
— have  these  little  hidden  swamps  of  emotion- 


CHRISTINE  215 

alness,  you  can  imagine  the  effect  of  the  Kaiser 
yesterda}^  at  such  a  moment  in  their  lives  on  a 
people  whose  swamps  are  carefully  cultivated 
by  their  politicians.  Even  I,  rebellious  and 
hostile  to  the  whole  attitude,  sure  that  the  real 
motives  beneath  all  this  are  base,  and  constitu- 
tionally unable  to  care  about  Kaisers,  was 
thrilled.  Thrilled  by  him,  I  mean.  Oh,  there 
was  enough  to  thrill  one  legitimately  and  tragi- 
cally about  the  poor  people,  so  eager  to  offer 
themselves,  their  souls  and  bodies,  to  be  an  un- 
reasonable sacrifice  and  satisfaction  for  the 
Hohenzollerns.  His  speech  was  wonderfully 
suited  to  the  occasion.  Of  course  it  would  be. 
If  he  were  not  able  to  prepare  it  himself  his 
officials  would  have  seen  to  it  that  some  prop- 
erly eloquent  person  did  it  for  him ;  but  Kloster 
says  he  speaks  really  well  on  cheap,  popular 
lines.  All  the  great  reverberating  words  were 
in  it,  the  old  big  words  ambitious  and  greedy 
rulers  have  conjured  with  since  time  began, — 
God,  Duty,  Country,  Hearth  and  Home, 
Wives,  Little  Ones,  God  again — lots  of  God. 
Perhaps  you'll  see  the  speech  in  the  papers. 
What  you  won't  see  is  that  enormous  crowd, 
struck  quiet,  struck  into  religious  awe,  crying 
quietly,  men  and  women  like  little  children 
gathered  to  the  feet  of,  positivel}',  a  heavenly 


216  CHRISTINE 

Father.  "Go  to  your  homes,"  he  said,  dismiss- 
ing them  at  the  end  with  upHfted  hand, — "go 
to  your  homes,  and  pray." 

And  we  went.  In  dead  silence.  That  im- 
mense crowd.  Quietly,  like  people  going  out 
of  church;  moved,  like  people  coming  away 
from  communion.  I  walked  beside  Helena, 
who  was  crying,  with  my  head  very  high  and 
my  chin  in  the  air,  trying  not  to  cry  too,  for 
then  they  would  have  been  more  than  ever  per- 
suaded that  I'm  a  promising  little  German,  but 
I  did  desperately  want  to.  I  could  hardly  not 
cry.  These  cheated  people!  Exploited  and 
cheated,  led  carefully  step  by  step  from  baby- 
hood to  a  certain  habit  of  mind  necessary  to 
their  exploiters,  with  certain  passions  carefully 
developed  and  encouraged,  certain  ancient 
ideas,  anachronisms  every  one  of  them,  kept 
continually  before  their  eyes, — why,  if  they  did 
win  in  their  murderous  attack  on  nations  who 
have  done  nothing  to  them,  what  are  they  go- 
ing to  get  individually?  Just  wind ;  the  empty 
wind  of  big  words.  They'll  be  told,  and  they'll 
read  it  in  the  newspapers,  that  now  they're 
great,  the  mightiest  people  in  the  world,  the  one 
best  able  to  crush  and  grind  other  nations. 
But  not  a  single  happiness  really  will  be  added 
to  the  private  life  of  a  single  citizen  belonging 


CHRISTINE  217 

to  the  vast  class  that  paj^s  the  bill.  For  the 
rest  of  their  lives  this  generation  will  be  poorer 
and  sadder,  that's  all.  Nobody  will  give  them 
back  the  money  they  have  sacrificed,  or  the 
ruined  businesses,  and  nobody  can  give  them 
back  their  dead  sons.  There'll  be  troops  of  old 
miserable  women  everj^wherc,  who  were  young 
and  content  before  all  the  gloiy  set  in,  and 
troops  of  dreary  old  men  who  once  had  chil- 
dren, and  troops  of  cripples  who  used  to  look 
forward  and  hope.  Yes,  I  too  obeyed  the 
Kaiser  and  went  home  and  prayed;  but  what 
I  prayed  was  that  Germanj'^  should  be  beaten — 
so  beaten,  so  punished  for  this  tremendous 
crime,  that  she  will  be  jerked  by  main  force  into 
line  with  modern  life,  dragged  up  to  date, 
taught  that  the  world  is  too  grown  up  now  to 
put  up  with  the  smashings  and  destructions  of 
a  greedy  and  brutal  child.  It  is  queer  to  think 
of  the  fear  of  God  having  to  be  kicked  into  any- 
body, but  I  believe  with  Prussians  it's  the  only 
way.  They  understand  kicks.  They  respect 
brute  strength  exercised  brutally.  I  can  hear 
their  roar  of  derision,  if  Christ  were  to  come 
among  them  to<lay  with  His  gentle,  "Little 
children,  lore  one  another." 

Your  Cliris. 


Berlin, 

Sunday,  ^August  2nd,  1914* 
My  precious  mother. 

Just  think, — when  I  had  my  lesson  yester- 
day Kloster  wouldn't  talk  either  about  the  war 
or  the  Kaiser.  For  a  long  time  I  thought  he 
was  ill;  but  he  wasn't,  he  just  wouldn't  talk. 
I  told  him  about  Friday,  and  the  Kaiser's 
"Geht  nach  Hause  und  hetet,"  and  how  I  had 
felt  about  it  and  the  whole  thing,  and  I  ex- 
pected a  flood  of  illuminating  and  instructive 
and  fearless  comment  from  him;  and  instead 
he  was  dumb.  And  not  only  dumb,  but  he 
fidgeted  while  I  talked,  and  at  last  stopped  me 
altogether  and  bade  me  go  on  playing. 

Then  I  asked  him  if  he  were  ill,  and  he  said, 
"No,  why  should  I  be  ill?" 

"Because  you're  different, — you  don't  talk," 
I  said. 

And  he  said,  "It  is  only  women  who  always 
talk." 

So  then  I  got  on  with  my  playing,  and  just 
wondered  in  silence. 

I  ran  against  Frau  Kloster  in  the  passage  as 

218 


CHRISTINE  219 

I  was  coming  out,  and  asked  her  if  there  was 
anything  wrong,  and  she  too  said,  "No,  what 
should  there  be  wrong?" 

"Because  the  Master's  different,"  I  said. 
"He  won't  talk." 

And  she  said,  "My  dear  Mees  Chrees,  these 
are  great  days  we  live  in,  and  one  cannot  be  as 
usual." 

"But  the  Master—"  I  said.  "Just  these 
great  days — you'd  think  he'd  be  pouring  out 
streams  of  all  the  things  that  most  need  say- 
ing-" 

And  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  merely 
repeated,  "One  is  not  as  usual." 

So  I  came  away,  greatly  puzzled.  I  had  ex- 
pected bread,  and  here  I  was  going  off  with 
nothing  but  an  unaccountable  stone.  Kloster 
and  Bernd  are  the  two  solitary  sane  and  wise 
people  I  know  here  in  this  place  of  fever,  the 
two  I  trust,  to  whom  I  say  what  I  really  think 
and  feel,  and  I  went  to  Kloster  yesterday 
athirst  for  wisdom,  for  that  detached,  critical 
picking  out  one  by  one  of  tlic  feathers  of  the 
imperial  bird,  tlie  Prussian  eagle,  that  I  find 
so  wholesome,  so  balance-restoring,  so  comfort- 
ing, in  what  is  now  a  very  great  isolation  of 
spirit.  And  he  was  dumb.  I  can't  get  over 
it. 


220  CHRISTINE 

I've  not  seen  Bernd  since,  as  he  is  frightfully 
busy  and  wasn't  able  to  come  yesterday  at  all, 
but  he's  coming  to  lunch  today,  and  perhaps 
he'll  be  able  to  explain  Kloster.  I've  been 
practising  all  the  morning, — it  will  seem  to  you 
an  odd  thing  to  have  done  while  Rome  is  burn- 
ing, but  I  did  it  savagely,  with  a  feeling  of 
flinging  defiance  at  this  topsy-turvy  world,  of 
slitting  its  ugliness  in  spite  of  itself  with  bright 
spears  of  music,  insisting  on  intruding  loveli- 
ness on  its  preoccupation,  the  loveliness  created 
bj^  its  own  brains  in  the  days  before  Pi*ussia  got 
the  upper  hand.  All  the  morning  I  practised 
the  Beethoven  violin  concerto,  and  the  naked, 
slender  radiance  of  it  without  the  orchestra  to 
muffle  it  up  in  a  background,  enchanted  me  into 
forgetting. 

The  crowds  down  there  are  soberer  since 
Friday,  and  I  didn't  have  to  go  into  the  bath- 
room to  play.  Now  that  v/ar  is  upon  them  the 
women  seem  to  have  started  thinking  a  little 
what  it  may  really  mean,  and  the  men  aren't 
quite  so  ready  incoherently  to  roar.  They 
keep  on  going  to  church, — the  churches  have 
been  having  services  at  unaccustomed  moments 
throughout  yesterday,  of  course  by  order,  and 
are  going  on  like  that  today  too,  for  the 
churches  are  very  valuable  to  Authority  in 


CHRISTINE  221 

nourishing  the  necessary  emotions  in  the  peo- 
ple at  a  time  hke  this.  The  people  were  told 
by  the  Kaiser  to  pray,  and  so  they  do  pray. 
It  is  useful  to  have  them  praying,  it  quiets  them 
and  gets  them  out  of  the  streets  and  helps  the 
authorities.  Berlin  is  really  the  most  godless 
place.  Rehgion  is  the  last  thing  anybody 
thinks  of.  Nobody  dreams  of  going  to  church 
unless  there  is  going  to  be  special  music  there 
or  a  prince,  and  as  for  the  country,  my  two 
Sundays  there  might  have  been  week-days  ex- 
cept for  the  extra  food.  It  is  true  on  each  of 
them  I  saw  a  pastor,  but  each  time  he  came  to 
the  family  I  was  with,  they  didn't  go  to  him, 
to  his  church.  Now  there's  suddenly  this  im- 
mense recollection  of  God,  turned  on  by  Au- 
thority just  as  one  turns  on  an  electric  light 
switch  and  says  "I^et  there  be  light,"  and  there 
is  light.  So  I  picture  the  Kaiser,  running  his 
finger  down  his  list  of  available  assets  and 
coming  to  God.  Then  he  rings  for  an  official, 
and  says,  "Let  there  be  God";  and  there  is 
God. 

I'm  not  really  being  profane.  It  isn't  really 
God  at  all  I'm  talking  about.  It's  what  Ger- 
man Authority  finds  convenient  to  turn  on  and 
off,  according  as  it  suits  what  it  wishes  to  ob- 
tain.    It  isn't  God.     It's  just  a  tap. 


222  CHRISTINE 

Later. 

Bernd  came  to  lunch,  but  also  unfortunately 
so  did  his  chief.  They  both  arrived  together 
after  we  had  begun, — there's  a  tremendous 
aller  et  venir  all  day  in  the  house,  and  some- 
times the  traffic  on  the  stairs  to  the  drawing- 
room  gets  so  congested  that  nothing  but  a  Lon- 
don policeman  could  deal  with  it.  I  could  only 
say  ordinary  things  to  Bernd,  and  he  went 
away,  swept  off  by  his  Colonel,  directly  after- 
wards. He  did  manage  to  whisper  he  would 
try  to  come  in  to  dinner  tonight  and  get  here 
early,  but  he  hasn't  come  yet  and  it's  nearly 
half  past  seven. 

The  Graf  was  at  lunch,  and  two  other  men 
who  ate  their  food  as  if  they  had  to  catch  a 
train,  and  they  talked  so  breathlessly  while  they 
ate  that  I  can't  think  why  they  didn't  choke; 
and  there  was  great  triumph  and  excitement 
because  the  Germans  crossed  into  Luxembourg 
this  morning  on  their  way  to  France,  marching 
straight  through  the  expostulations  and  en- 
treaties of  the  Grand  Duchess,  blowing  her 
aside,  I  gather,  like  so  much  rather  amusing 
thistledown.  It  seemed  to  tickle  the  Graf, 
whom  I  have  not  before  seen  tickled  and  hadn't 


CHRISTINE  223 

imagined  ever  could  be;  but  this  idea  of  a 
junges  Mddchen — {"Sle  soil  ganz  niedlich 
sein/^  threw  in  one  of  the  gobbling  men.  "Ja 
ganz  appetitlicli"  threw  in  the  other;  "Na,  es 
gelit"  said  the  Colonel  with  a  shrug — ) — mo- 
toring out  to  bar  the  passage  of  a  mighty  army, 
trying  to  stop  thousands  of  bayonets  by  lift- 
ing up  one  little  admonitory  kitten's  paw,  shook 
him  out  of  his  gravity  into  a  weird,  uncanny 
chuckling. 

The  Colonel,  who  was  as  genial  and  hilarious 
as  ever,  rather  more  so  than  ever,  said  all  the 
Luxembourg  railways  would  be  in  German 
hands  by  tonight.  "It  works  out  as  easily  and 
inevitably  as  a  simple  arithmetical  problem," 
he  laughed;  and  I  heard  him  tell  the  Graf  Ger- 
man cavalry  was  already  in  France  at  several 
points. 

"J a,  ja"  he  said,  apparently  addressing  me, 
for  he  looked  at  me  and  smiled,  "when  we  Ger- 
mans make  war  we  do  not  wait  till  the  next  day. 
Everjihing  tliought  of;  everything  ready; 
plenty  of  oil  in  the  machine;  und  dnnn  los." 

He  raised  his  glass.  "Delightful  young 
English  lady,"  he  said,  "I  drink  to  your  charm- 
ing eyes." 

There's  dinner.     I  must  leave  off. 


224  CHRISTINE 

Eleven  p,  m. 

You'll  never  believe  it,  but  Kloster  has  been 
given  the  Order  of  the  Red  Eagle  1st  Class, 
and  made  a  privy  councillor  and  an  excellency 
by  the  Kaiser  this  very  day.  And  his  most  in- 
timate friends,  the  cleverest  talkers  among  his 
set,  two  or  three  who  used  to  hold  forth  par- 
ticularly brilliantly  in  his  rooms  on  Socialism 
and  the  slavish  stupidity  of  Germans,  have  each 
had  an  order  and  an  advancement  of  some  sort. 
Kloster  was  at  the  palace  this  afternoon.  He 
knew  about  it  yesterday  when  I  was  having  my 
lesson.     Kloster.     Of  all  men.     I  feel  sick. 

Bernd  didn't  come  to  dinner,  but  was  able 
to  be  with  me  for  half  an  hour  afterwards,  half 
an  hour  of  comfort  I  badly  needed,  for  where 
can  one's  feet  be  set  firmly  and  safely  in  this 
upheaving  world  ?  The  Colonel  was  at  dinner ; 
he  comes  to  nearly  every  meal;  and  it  was  he 
who  started  talking  about  Kloster's  audience 
with  Majestat  this  afternoon. 

I  jumped  as  though  some  one  had  hit  me. 
"That  can^t  be  true,"  I  exclaimed,  exactly  as 
one  calls  out  quickly  if  one  is  suddenly  struck. 

They  all  looked  at  me.  Somehow  I  saw  that 
they  had  known  about  it  beforehand,  and 
Bernd  told  me  tonight  it  was  the  Graf  who  had 
drawn  the  authorities'  attention  to  the  desira- 


CHRISTINE  225 

bility  of  having  tongues  like  Kloster's  on  the 
side  of  the  H oh enzo Herns. 

"Dear  child,"  said  the  Grafin  gently,  "we 
Germans  do  not  permit  our  great  to  go  un- 
honoured." 

"But  he  would  never — "  I  began;  then  re- 
membered my  lesson  yesterday  and  his  silence. 
So  that's  what  it  was.  He  already  had  his 
command  to  attend  at  the  palace  and  be  deco- 
rated in  his  pocket. 

I  sat  staring  straight  before  me.  Kloster 
bouglit?  Kloster  for  sale?  And  the  Govern- 
ment at  such  a  crisis  finding  time  to  bother 
about  him? 

"Ja,  ja"  said  the  Colonel  gaily,  as  though 
answering  my  thoughts — and  I  found  I  had 
been  staring,  without  seeing  him,  straight  into 
his  eyes,  "ja,  ja,  we  think  of  everything  here." 

"Not,"  gently  amended  the  Grafin,  "that  it 
was  difficult  to  think  of  honouring  so  great  a 
jienius  as  our  dear  Kloster.  He  has  been  in 
^Majestiit's  thoughts  for  j^ears." 

"I  expect  he  has,"  I  said;  for  Kloster  has 
often  told  me  how  they  hated  him  at  court,  him 
and  his  friends,  but  that  he  was  too  well  known 
all  over  tiic  world  for  them  to  be  able  to  inter- 
fere with  him;  something  like,  I  expect,  Tolstoi 
and  the  Russian  court. 


226  CHRISTINE 

The  Grafin  looked  at  me  quickly. 

"And  so  has  Majestat  been  in  his,"  I  con- 
tinued. 

"Kloster,"  said  the  Grafin  very  gently,  "is  a 
most  amusing  talker,  and  sometimes  cannot  re- 
sist saying  the  witty  things  that  occur  to  him, 
however  undesirable  they  may  be.  We  all 
know  they  mean  nothing.  We  all  understand 
and  love  our  Kloster.  And  nobody,  as  you 
see,  dear  child,  more  than  Majestat,  with  his 
ever  ready  appreciation  of  genius." 

I  could  only  sit  silent,  staring  at  my  plate. 
Kloster  gone.  Kloster  allowing  himself  to 
be  gagged  by  a  decoration.  I  wanted  to  push 
the  intolerable  thought  away  from  me  and  cry 
out,  "No,  it  caii't  be." 

Why,  who  can  one  believe  in  now?  Who  is 
left?  There's  Bernd,  my  beloved,  my  heart's 
own  mate;  and  as  I  sat  there  dumb,  and  they 
all  triumphed  on  with  their  self-congratulations 
and  satisfactions,  and  Majestat  this,  and 
Deutschland  that,  for  an  awful  moment  my 
faith  in  Bernd  himself  began  to  shake.  Sup- 
pose he  too,  he  with  his  Prussian  blood  and  up- 
bringing, fell  away  and  went  over  in  spirit  to 
the  side  of  life  that  decorates  a  man  in  return 
for  the  absolute  control  of  his  thoughts,  re- 
wards him  for  the  disposal  of  his  soul?    Kloster, 


CHRISTINE  227 

that  freest  of  critics,  had  gone  over,  his  German 
blood  after  all  unable  to  resist  the  call  to  slav- 
ery. I  never  could  have  believed  it.  I  never 
"would  have  believed  it  without  actual  proof. 
And  Bernd?  What  about  Bernd?  For  I 
haven't  more  believed  in  Kloster  than  I  do  in 
Bernd.    Oh,  little  mother,  I  was  cold  with  fear. 

Then  he  came.  ]My  dear  one  came  for  a 
blessed  half  hour.  And  because  we,  thank 
God,  are  betrothed,  and  so  have  the  right  to 
be  alone  together,  we  got  rid  of  those  smug 
triumpliant  others ;  and  if  he  had  happened  not 
to  be  able  to  come,  and  I  liad  had  to  wait  till 
tomorrow,  all  night  long  thinking  of  Kloster, 
I  believe  I'd  have  gone  mad.  For  you  see  one 
believes  so  utterly  in  a  person  one  does  believe 
in.  At  least,  I  do.  I  can't  manage  caution 
in  belief,  I  can't  give  prudently,  carefully, 
holding  back  part,  as  I'm  told  a  w^oman  does 
if  she  is  really  clever,  in  either  faith  or  love. 
And  how  is  one  to  get  on  without  faith  and 
love?  Bernd  comforted  me.  And  he  com- 
forted me  most  by  my  finding  how  greatly  he 
needed  to  be  comforted  himself.  lie  was  every 
bit  as  profoundly  shaken  and  shocked  as  I  was. 
Oh,  the  relief  of  discovering  that! 

AVc  clung  to  each  other,  and  comforted  each 
other  like  two  hurt  children.     Kloster  has  been 


228  CHRISTINE 

so  much  to  us  both.  IMore,  perhaps,  here  in 
this  place  of  hypocrisy  and  self-deceptions, 
than  he  would  have  been  anywhere  else.  He 
stood  for  fearlessness,  for  freedom,  for  beauty, 
for  all  the  great  things.  And  now  he  has  gone ; 
silent,  choked  by  the  Rote  /idler  Orden  Erste 
Klasse.  It  is  an  order  with  three  classes.  We 
wondered  bitterly  whether  he  couldn't  have 
been  had  cheaper, — whether  second,  or  even 
third  class,  wouldn't  have  done  it.  He  is  now 
a  Wirkliche  Geheimrath  mit  dem  Prddikat 
Excellenz.     God  rest  his  soul. 

Chris. 


Berlin, 
Monday,  August  3rd,  1914., 
Darling  own  mother, 

It's  only  a  matter  of  hours  now  before 
Bernd  will  have  to  go,  and  when  he  goes  I'm 
coming  back  to  you. 

Your  Chris. 


25?fl 


Berlin, 

Monday  August  3rd,  evening. 
Precious  mother, 

I  want  to  come  back  to  you — directly  Bernd 
has  gone  I'm  coming  back  to  you,  and  if  he 
doesn't  go  soon  but  is  used  in  Berhn  at  the 
Staff  Head  Quarters,  as  he  says  now  perhaps 
he  may  be  for  a  while,  I  won't  stay  with  the 
Koseritzes,  but  go  back  to  Frau  Berg's  for  as 
long  as  Bernd  is  in  Berlin,  and  the  day  he 
leaves  I  start  for  Switzerland. 

I  don't  know  what  is  happening,  but  the 
Koseritzes  have  suddenly  turned  different  to 
me.  They're  making  me  feel  more  and  more 
uncomfortable  and  strange.  And  there's  a 
gloom  about  them  and  the  people  who  have 
been  here  today  that  sets  me  wondering 
whether  their  war  plans  after  all  are  rolling 
along  quite  as  smoothl}''  as  they  thought.  I 
never  did  quite  believe  the  Koseritzes  liked  me, 
any  of  them,  and  now  I'm  sure  they  don't. 
Tonight  at  dinner  the  Graf's  face  was  a  thun- 
der-cloud, and  actually  the  Colonel,  who  hasn't 
been  all  day  but  came  in  late  for  dinner  and 
went  again  immediately,  didn't  speak  to  me 

230 


CHRISTINE  231 

once.  Hardty  looked  at  me  when  he  bowed, 
and  his  bow  was  the  stiffest  thing.  I  can't  ask 
anybody  if  there  is  bad  news  for  Germany,  for 
it  would  be  a  most  dreadful  insult  even  to  sug- 
gest there  could  be  bad  news.  Besides,  I  feel 
as  if  I  somehow  were  mixed  up  in  whatever  it 
is.  Beriid  hasn't  been  since  this  morning.  I 
shall  go  round  to  Frau  Berg  tomorrow  and  ask 
her  if  1  can  have  my  old  room.  But  oh,  little 
beloved  mother,  I  feel  torn  in  two  1  I  want  so 
dreadfully  to  get  away,  to  go  back  to  you,  and 
the  tliought  of  being  at  Frau  Berg's,  just  wait- 
ing, waiting  for  the  tiny  scraps  of  moments 
Bernd  can  come  to  me,  fills  me  with  horror. 
And  yet  how  can  I  leave  him?  I  love  him  so. 
And  once  he  has  gone,  shall  I  ever  see  him 
again?  If  it  weren't  for  him  I'd  have  started 
for  Switzerland  yesterday,  the  moment  I  heard 
about  Kloster,  for  the  whole  reason  for  my  be- 
ing in  Berlin  was  only  Kloster. 

And  now  Kloster  says  he  isn't  going  to  teach 
me  any  more.  Darling  mother,  I'm  so  sorry 
to  have  to  tell  you  this,  but  it's  true.  He  sent 
round  a  note  this  evening  saying  he  regretted 
he  couldn't  continue  tlie  lessons.  Just  that. 
Not  another  word.  I  can't  make  anything  out 
any  more.  I've  got  nobody  but  Bernd  to  ask, 
and  I  only  see  him  in  briefest  snatches.     Of 


232  CHRISTINE 

course  I  knew  the  lessons  would  be  strange  and 
painful  now,  but  I  thought  we  could  manage, 
Kloster  and  I,  by  excluding  everything  but  the 
bare  teaching  and  learning,  to  go  on  and  finish 
what  we've  begun.  He  knows  how  important 
it  is  to  me.  He  knows  what  this  journey  here 
has  meant  to  us,  to  you  and  me,  the  difficulty 
of  it,  the  sacrifice.  I'm  very  unhappy  tonight, 
darling  mother,  and  selfishly  crying  out  to  you. 
I  feel  almost  like  leaving  Bernd,  and  starting 
for  Glion  tomorrow.  And  then  when  I  think 
of  him  without  me — He's  as  spiritually  alone 
in  this  welter  as  I  am.  I'm  the  only  one  he 
has,  the  only  human  being  who  understands. 
Today  he  said,  holding  me  in  his  arms — you 
should  see  how  we  cling  to  each  other  now  as 
if  we  were  drowning — "When  this  is  over, 
Chris,  when  I've  paid  off  my  bill  of  duty  and 
settled  with  them  here  to  the  last  farthing  of 
me  that  I've  promised  them,  we'll  go  away  for 
ever.  We'll  never  come  back.  We'll  never  be 
caught  again." 


Berlin, 

Tuesday,  August  4th,  1914. 
My  beloved  mother, 

The  atmosphere  in  this  house  really  is  in- 
tolerable, and  I'm  going  back  to  Frau  Berg's 
tomorrow  morning.  I've  settled  it  with  her 
by  telephone,  and  I  can  have  my  old  room. 
However  lonely  I  am  in  it  without  my  lessons 
and  Kloster,  without  the  reason  there  was  for 
being  there  before,  I  won't  have  this  horrid  feel- 
ing of  being  in  a  place  full  of  sudden  and  un- 
accountable liostility.  Bernd  came  this  morn- 
ing, and  the  Griifin  told  him  I  was  out,  and  he 
went  away  again.  She  couldn't  have  thouglit 
I  was  out,  for  I  always  tell  her  when  I'm  go- 
ing, so  slic  wants  to  sej^arate  us.  But  why? 
Why  ?  And  oh,  it  means  so  much  to  me  to  see 
him,  it  was  so  cruel  to  find  out  by  accident  that 
he  had  been!  A  woman  who  was  at  lunch  hap- 
pened to  say  she  had  met  him  coming  out  of 
the  front  door  as  she  came  in, 

"W^liat — was  Bcrnd  Iicrc?"  I  exclaimed,  half 
getting  up  on  a  sort  of  impulse  to  run  after  him 
and  try  and  catch  him  in  the  street. 


233 


234  CHRISTINE 

"Helena  thought  you  had  gone  out,"  said  the 
Grafin. 

"But  you  k7iew  1  hadn't,"  I  said,  turning  on 
Helena. 

"Helena  knew  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  the 
Grafin  severely.  "She  said  what  she  believed 
to  be  true.  I  must  request  you,  Christine,  not 
to  cast  doubts  on  her  word.  We  Germans  do 
not  lie." 

And  the  Graf  muttered,  ''Peinlich,  peinlich" 
and  pushed  back  his  chair  and  left  the  room. 

"You  have  spoilt  my  husband's  lunch,"  said 
the  Grafin  sternly. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  I  said;  and  tried  to  go 
on  with  my  own,  but  couldn't  see  it  because  I 
was  blinded  by  tears. 

After  this  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  Frau 
Berg.  I  waited  till  the  Grafin  was  alone,  and 
then  went  and  told  her  I  thought  it  better  I 
should  go  back  to  the  Liitzowstrasse,  and  would 
like,  if  she  didn't  mind,  to  go  tomorrow.  It 
was  very  peinlicli,  as  they  say;  for  however 
much  people  want  to  get  rid  of  you  they're  al- 
ways angry  if  you  want  to  go.  I  said  all  I 
could  that  was  grateful,  and  there  was  quite  a 
lot  I  could  say  by  blotting  out  the  last  two 
days  from  my  remembrance.  I  did,  being 
gi*eatly  at  sea  and  perplexed,  ask  what  it  was 


CHRISTINE  235 

that  I  had  done  to  offend  her ;  though  of  course 
she  didn't  tell  me,  and  was  only  still  more  of- 
fended at  being  asked. 

I'm  going  to  pack  now,  and  write  a  letter  to 
Bernd  telling  him  about  it,  in  case  Helena 
should  have  a  second  unfortunate  conviction 
that  I'm  not  at  home  when  he  comes  next.  And 
I  do  try  to  be  cheerful,  little  mother,  and  keep 
my  soul  from  getting  hurt,  and  when  I'm  at 
Frau  Berg's  I  shall  feel  more  normal  again 
I  expect.  But  one  has  such  fears — oh,  more 
than  just  fears,  terrors — Well,  I  won't  go  on 
writing  in  this  mood.     I'll  pack. 

Your  own  Chris. 


At  Frau  Berg's, 
August  4th,  1914,  very  late. 

Precious  mother, 

I'm  coming  back  to  you.  Don't  be  unhappy 
about  me.  Don't  think  I'm  coming  back 
mangled,  a  bleeding  thing,  because  you  see,  I 
still  have  Bernd,  I  still  believe  in  him — oh,  with 
my  whole  being.  And  as  long  as  I  do  that 
how  can  I  be  anything  but  happy?  It's 
strange  how,  now  that  the  catastrophe  has 
come,  I'm  quite  calm,  sitting  here  at  Frau 
Berg's  in  my  old  room  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  writing  to  you.  I  think  it's  because  the 
whole  thing  is  so  great  that  I'm  like  this,  like 
somebody  who  has  had  a  mortal  blow,  and  be- 
cause it's  mortal  doesn't  feel.  But  this  isn't 
mortal.  I've  got  Bernd  and  you, — only  now  I 
must  have  great  patience.  Till  I  see  him 
again.  Till  war  is  over  and  he  comes  for  me, 
and  I  shall  be  with  him  always. 

I'm  coming  to  you,  dear  mother.  It's  fin- 
ished here.  I'm  going  to  describe  it  all  quite 
calmly  to  you.  I'm  not  going  to  be  unworthy 
of  Bernd,  I  won't  have  less  of  dignity  and  pa- 
tience than  he  has.     If  you'd  seen  him  tonight 


23G 


CHRISTINE  237 

saying  good-bye  to  me,  and  stopped  by  the 
Colonel!  His  look  as  he  obeyed — I  shan't  for- 
get it.  When  next  I'm  weak  and  base  I  shall 
remember  it,  and  it  will  save  me. 

At  dinner  there  were  onl}^  the  Grafin  and 
Helena  and  me,  and  they  didn't  speak  a  word, 
not  only  not  to  me  but  not  to  each  other,  and 
iv  the  middle  a  servant  brought  in  a  note  for 
the  Grafin  from  the  Graf,  he  said,  and  when 
she  had  looked  at  it  she  got  up  and  went  out. 
We  finished  our  dinner  in  dead  silence,  and  I 
was  going  up  to  my  room  when  the  Grafin's 
maid  came  after  me  and  said  would  I  go  to  her 
mistress.  She  was  alone  in  the  drawingroom, 
sitting  at  her  writing  table,  though  she  wasn't 
writing,  and  when  I  came  in  she  said,  without 
turning  round,  that  she  must  ask  me  to  leave 
her  house  at  once,  that  very  evening.  She  said 
that  apart  from  her  private  feelings,  which 
were  all  in  favour  of  my  going — she  would  be 
(juite  frank,  she  said — there  were  serious  poli- 
tical reasons  why  I  shouldn't  stay  even  as  long 
as  till  tomorrow.  The  Graf's  career,  his  posi- 
tion in  the  ministry,  their  social  position, 
iMajestiit, — I  really  don't  remember  all  she 
said,  and  it  matters  so  little,  so  little.  I  lis- 
tened, trying  to  understand,  trying  to  give  all 
my  attention  to  it  and  disentangle  it,  while  my 


238  CHRISTINE 

heart  was  thumping  so  because  of  Bernd.  For 
I  was  being  turned  out  in  disgrace,  and  I  am 
his  betrothed,  and  so  I  am  his  honour,  and 
whatever  of  shame  there  is  for  me  there  is  of 
shame  for  him. 

The  Grafin  got  more  and  more  unsteady  in 
her  voice  as  she  went  on.  She  was  trying  hard 
to  keep  calm,  but  she  was  evidently  feeling  so 
acutely,  so  violently,  that  it  was  distressing  to 
have  to  watch  her.  I  was  so  sorry.  I  wanted 
to  put  my  arms  round  her  and  tell  her  not  to 
mind  so  much,  that  of  course  I'd  go,  but  if 
only  she  wouldn't  mind  so  much  whatever  it 
was.  Then  at  last  she  began  to  lose  her  hold 
on  herself,  and  got  up  and  walked  about  the 
room  saying  things  about  England.  So  then 
I  knew.  And  I  knew  the  answer  to  every- 
thing that  has  been  perplexing  me.  They'd 
been  afraid  of  it  the  last  two  days,  and  now 
they  knew  it.  England  isn't  going  to  fold  her 
arms  and  look  on.  Oh,  how  I  loved  England 
then!  Standing  in  that  Berlin  drawingroom 
in  the  heart  of  the  Junker-military-official  set, 
all  by  myself  in  what  I  think  and  feel, — how  I 
loved  her!  My  heart  was  thumping  five  min- 
utes before  for  fear  of  shame,  now  it  thumped 
so  that  I  couldn't  have  said  an>i;hing  if  I'd 
wanted  to  for  gladness  and  pride.     I  was  a  bit 


CHRISTINE  239 

of  England.  I  think  to  Ivnow  how  much  one 
loves  England  one  has  to  be  in  Germany.  I 
forgot  Bernd  for  a  moment,  my  heart  was  so 
full  of  that  other  love,  that  proud  love  for  one's 
country  when  it  takes  its  stand  on  the  side  of 
righteousness.  And  presently  the  Griifin  said 
it  all,  tumbled  it  all  out, — that  England  was 
going  to  declare  war,  and  under  circumstances 
so  shameful,  so  full  of  the  well-known  revolting? 
hypocrisy,  that  it  made  an  honest  German  sick. 
"Belgium!"  she  cried,  "What  is  Belgium?  An 
excuse,  a  pretence,  one  more  of  the  sickening, 
whining  phrases  with  which  you  conceal  your 
gluttonous  opportunism — "  And  so  she  con- 
tinued, while  I  stood  silent. 

Oh  well,  all  that  doesn't  matter  now, — I'm 
in  a  hurry,  I  want  to  get  this  letter  off  to  you 
tonight.  Luckily  there's  a  letter-box  a  few 
yards  away,  so  I  won't  have  to  face  much  of 
those  awful  streets  that  are  yelling  now  for 
England's  blood. 

I  went  up  and  got  my  things  together.  I 
knew  Bernd  would  get  tlie  letter  I  posted  to 
him  this  morning  telhng  him  I  was  going  to 
Frau  Berg's  tomorrow,  so  I  felt  safe  al)out  see- 
ing him,  even  if  he  didn't  come  in  to  the  Koser- 
itzes  before  I  left.  But  he  did  come  in.  He 
came  just  as  I  was  going  downstairs  carrying 


240  CHRISTINE 

my  violin-case — how  foolish  and  outside  of  life 
that  music  business  seems  now — and  he  seized 
my  hand  and  took  me  into  the  drawingroom. 

"Not  in  here,  not  in  here!"  cried  the  Griifin, 
getting  up  excitedly.  "Not  again,  not  ever 
again  does  an  Englishwoman  come  into  my 
drawingroom — ' ' 

Bernd  went  to  her  and  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm  and  led  her  politely  to  the  door, 
which  he  shut  after  her.  Then  he  came  back 
to  me.  "You  know,  Chris,"  he  said,  "about 
England?" 

"Of  course — just  listen,*'  I  answered,  for  in 
the  street  newsboys  were  yelling  Kriegserkld- 
rung  Englands,  and  there  was  a  great  dull 
roaring  as  of  a  multitude  of  wild  beasts  who 
have  been  wounded. 

"You  must  go  to  your  mother  at  once — to- 
morrow," he  said.  "Before  you're  noticed,  be- 
fore there's  been  time  to  make  your  going  dif- 
ficult." 

I  told  him  the  Griifin  had  asked  me  to  leave, 
and  I  was  coming  here  tonight.  He  wasted  no 
words  on  the  Koseritzes,  but  was  anxious  lest 
Frau  Berg  mightn't  wish  to  take  me  in  now. 
He  said  he  would  come  with  me  and  see  that  she 
did,  and  place  me  under  her  care  as  part  of 
himself.     "And  tomorrow  you  run.     You  run 


CHRISTINE  241 

to  Switzerland,  without  telling  Frau  Berg  or 
a  soul  where  you  are  going,"  he  said.  "You 
just  go  out,  and  don't  come  back.  I'll  settle 
witli  Frau  Berg  afterwards.  You  go  to  the 
Anhalter  station — on  your  feet,  Chris,  as 
though  you  were  going  for  a  walk — and  get 
into  the  first  train  for  Geneva,  Zurich,  Laus- 
anne, anywhere  as  long  as  it's  Switzerland. 
You'll  want  all  your  intelligence.  Have  you 
money  enough?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  said,  feeling  every  second  was 
precious  and  shouldn't  be  wasted;  but  he 
opened  my  viohn-case  and  put  a  lot  of  bank- 
notes into  it. 

"And  have  you  courage  enough?"  he  asked, 
taking  my  face  in  his  hands  and  looking  into 
my  eyes. 

Oh  the  blessedness,  the  blessedness  of  bein<r 
near  him,  of  hearing  and  seeing  him.  What 
couldn't  I  and  wouldn't  I  be  and  do  for  Bernd  ? 

I  told  him  I  liad  courage  enough,  for  I  had 
him,  and  I  wouldn't  fail  in  it,  nor  in  patience. 

"We  shall  want  both,  my  Chris,"  he  said,  his 
face  against  mine,  "oh,  my  Chris — !" 

And  then  the  Colonel  walked  in. 

"Herr  Leutnant?"  he  said,  in  a  raucous 
voice,  as  though  he  were  ordering  troops  about. 

At  the  sound  of  it  lk*rnd  instantly  became 


242  CHRISTINE 

rigid  and  stood  at  attention, — the  perfect 
automaton,  except  that  I  was  hanging  on  his 
arm. 

"Zur  Befehl,  Herr  Oberst,"  he  said. 

"Take  that  woman's  hand  off  your  arm, 
Herr  Leutnant,"  said  the  Colonel  sharply. 

Bernd  gently  put  my  hand  off,  and  I  put  it 
back  again. 

"We  are  going  to  be  married,"  I  said  to  the 
Colonel,  "and  perhaps  I  may  not  see  Bernd  for 
a  long  while  after  tonight." 

"No  German  officer  marries  an  alien  enemy," 
snapped  out  the  Colonel.  "Remove  the 
woman's  hand,  Herr  Leutnant." 

Again  Bernd  gently  took  my  hand,  but  I 
held  on.  "This  is  good-bye,  then?"  I  said, 
looking  up  at  him  and  clinging  to  him. 

He  was  facing  the  Colonel,  rigid,  his  pro- 
file to  me ;  but  he  did  at  that  turn  his  head  and 
look  at  me.     "Remember — "  he  breathed. 

"I  forbid  all  talking,  Herr  Leutnant," 
snapped  the  Colonel. 

"Never  mind  him,"  I  whispered.  "What 
does  he  matter?  Remember  what,  my  Bernd, 
my  own  beloved?" 

"Remember  courage — patience — "  he  mur- 
mured quickly,  under  his  breath. 

"Silence !"  shouted  the  Colonel.     "Take  that 


CHRISTINE  243 

woman's  hand  off  your  arm,  Herr  Leutnant. 
KreuzJiimmeldonnerwetter  nochmaL    In- 

stantly." 

Bernd  took  m^^  hand,  and  raising  it  to  his 
face  kissed  it  slowh^  and  looked  at  me.  I  shall 
not  forget  that  look. 

The  Colonel,  who  was  verj'-  red  and  more  like 
an  infuriated  machine  than  a  human  being, 
stepped  on  one  side  and  pointed  to  the  door. 
"Precede  me,"  he  said.  "On  the  instant. 
March." 

And  Bernd  went  out  as  if  on  parade. 

When  shall  we  see  each  other  again?  Only 
a  fortnight,  one  fortnight  and  two  days,  have 
we  been  lovers.  But  such  things  can't  be 
measured  by  time.  They  are  of  eternity. 
They  are  for  always.  If  he  is  killed,  and  the 
rest  of  my  years  are  empty,  we  still  will  have 
had  the  whole  of  life. 

And  now  there's  tomorrow,  and  my  getting 
away.  You  won't  be  anxious,  dear  mother. 
You'll  wait  quietly  and  patiently  till  I  come. 
I'll  write  to  you  on  the  way  if  I  can.  It  may 
take  several  days  to  get  to  Switzerland,  and  it 
may  be  difficult  to  get  out  of  Germany.  I 
think  I  sliall  say  I'm  an  American.  Frau 
Berg,  poor  thing,  will  l)e  relieved  to  find  me 
gone.     She  only  took  me  in  tonight  because 


244  CHRISTINE 

of  Bernd.  While  she  was  demurring  on  the 
threshold,  when  at  last  I  got  to  her  after  a  ter- 
rifying walk  through  the  crowds, — for  I  was 
afraid  they  would  notice  me  and  see,  as  they 
always  do,  that  I'm  English, — his  soldier  serv- 
ant brought  her  a  note  from  him  which  just 
turned  the  scale  for  me.  I'm  afraid  humanity 
wouldn't  have  done  it,  nor  pity,  for  patriotism 
and  pity  don't  go  well  together  here. 

I  wonder  if  you'll  believe  how  calmly  I'm  go- 
ing to  bed  and  to  sleep  tonight,  on  the  night 
of  what  might  seem  to  be  the  ruin  of  my  hap- 
piness. I'm  glad  I've  written  everything 
down  that  has  happened  this  evening.  It  has 
got  it  so  clear  to  me.  I  don't  want  ever  to  for- 
get one  word  or  look  of  Bernd's  tonight.  I 
don't  want  ever  to  forget  his  patience,  his  dear 
look  of  untouchable  dignity,  when  the  Colonel, 
because  he  is  in  authority  and  can  be  cruel,  at 
such  a  moment  in  the  lives  of  two  poor  human 
beings  was  so  unkind. 

God  bless  and  keep  you,  my  mother, — mj^ 
dear  sweet  mother. 

Your  Chris. 


Halle,  Wednesday  night, 

August  5th,  1914. 

I've  got  as  far  as  this,  and  hope  to  get  on  in 
an  hour  or  two.  We've  been  stopped  to  let 
troop  trains  pass.  They  go  rushing  by  one 
after  the  other,  packed  with  waving,  shouting 
soldiers,  all  of  them  with  flowers  stuck  about 
them,  in  their  buttonholes  and  caps.  I've  been 
watching  them.  There's  no  end  to  them. 
And  the  enthusiasm  of  the  crowds  on  the  plat- 
form as  they  go  by  never  slackens.  I'm  mak- 
ing for  Ziirich.  I  tried  for  Bale,  but  couldn't 
get  into  Switzerland  that  way, — it  is  ahgcs- 
2)errt.  I  hadn't  much  difficulty  getting  a 
ticket  in  Berlin.  There  was  such  confusion 
and  such  a  rush  at  the  ticket  office  that  the  man 
just  asked  me  why  I  wanted  to  go;  and  I  said 
I  was  American  and  rejoining  my  mother,  and 
he  flung  me  the  ticket,  only  too  glad  to  get  rid 
of  me.  Don't  expect  me  till  you  see  me,  for  we 
shall  be  held  up  lots  of  times,  I'm  sure. 

I'm  all  right,  mother  darling.  It  was  fear- 
fully hot  all  day,  scjueezed  tight  in  a  third 
class  carriage — no  other  chiss  to  be  had.  It's 
cold  and  draughty  in  this  station  by  compari- 
son, and  I  wish  I  had  my  coat.     I've  brought 


24r, 


246  CHRISTINE 

nothing  away  with  me,  except  my  fiddle  and 
what  would  go  into  its  case,  which  was  hand- 
kerchiefs. Bernd  will  see  that  my  things  get 
sent  on,  I  expect.  I  locked  everything  up  in 
my  trunk, — your  letters,  and  all  my  precious 
things.  An  official  came  along  the  train  at 
Wittenberg,  and  after  eyeing  us  all  in  my 
compartment  suddenly  held  out  his  hand  to 
me  and  said,  "Hire  Papiere."  As  I  haven't 
got  any  I  told  him  about  being  an  American, 
and  as  much  family  history  not  till  then  known 
to  me  as  I  could  put  into  German.  The  other 
passengers  listened  eagerly,  but  not  unfriendly. 
I  think  if  you're  a  woman,  not  being  old  helps 
one  in  Germanj'. 

Now  I'm  going  to  get  some  hot  coffee,  for  it 
has  turned  cold,  I  think,  and  post  this.  The 
one  thing  in  life  now  that  seems  of  desperate 
importance  is  to  get  to  you.  Oh,  little  mother, 
the  moment  when  I  reach  you !  It  will  be  like 
getting  to  heaven,  like  getting  at  last,  after 
many  wanderings,  and  batterings,  to  the  feet  of 
God. 

We  ought  to  be  at  Waldshut,  on  the  frontier, 
tomorrow  morning,  but  nobody  can  say  for 
certain,  because  we  may  be  held  up  for  hours 
anywhere  on  the  way.  Your  Chris. 

It's  a  good  thing  being  too  tired  to  think. 


Wurzhurg, 

Thursday,  'August  6th,  1914, 

4  p»  ^. 

I've  only  got  as  far  as  this.  I  was  held  up 
this  time,  not  the  train. .  It  went  on  without 
me.  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  really;  it  only 
keeps  me  a  httle  longer  from  you. 

We  stopped  here  about  ten  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  I  was  so  tired  and  stiff  after  the 
long  night  wedged  in  tight  in  the  railway  car- 
riage that  I  got  out  to  get  some  air  and  un- 
stiff'en  myself,  instinctively  clutching  my  fid- 
dle-case; and  a  Bavarian  officer  on  the  plat- 
form, watching  the  train  with  some  soldiers, 
saw  me  and  came  over  to  me  at  once  and  de- 
manded to  sec  my  papers. 

"You  are  English,"  he  said;  and  when  I  said 
I  was  American  he  made  a  sound  like  Tcha. 

I  can't  tell  you  how  horrid  he  was.  He 
kept  me  standing  for  two  hours  in  the  blazing 
sun.  You  can  imagine  what  I  felt  like  when 
I  saw  my  train  going  away  without  me.  I 
asked  if  1  mightn't  go  into  the  sliade,  into  the 
waiting-r(X)ni,  anywhere  out  of  the  terrible  sun, 
for  I  was  positively  dripping  after  the  first  half 

247 


248  CHRISTINE 

hour  of  it,  and  his  answer  to  that  and  to  any- 
thing else  I  said  in  protest  was  always  the 
same:     "Krieg  ist  Krieg.     Mund  halten/' 

There  was  no  reason  whj^  I  shouldn't  be  in 
the  shade,  except  that  he  had  power  to  prevent 
it.  Well,  he  was  very  young,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose had  ever  had  so  much  power  before,  so  I 
suppose  it  was  natural,  he  being  German.  But 
it  was  a  most  ridiculous  position.  I  tried  to 
see  it  from  that  side  and  be  amused,  but  I 
wasn't  amused.  While  he  went  and  tele- 
phoned to  his  superiors  for  instructions  he  put 
a  soldier  to  guard  me,  and  of  course  the  people 
waiting  on  the  platform  for  trains  crowded  to 
look.  They  decided  that  I  was  no  doubt  a  spy, 
and  certainly  and  manifestly  one  of  the  swin- 
ish English,  they  said.  I  wished  then  I 
couldn't  understand  German.  I  stood  there 
doing  my  best  to  think  it  was  all  very  funny, 
but  I  was  too  tired  to  succeed,  and  hadn't  had 
any  breakfast,  and  they  were  too  rude.  Then 
I  tried  to  think  it  was  just  a  silly  dream,  and 
that  I  had  really  got  to  Glion,  and  would 
wake  up  in  a  minute  in  a  cool  bedroom  with  the 
light  coming  through  green  shutters,  and 
there'd  be  the  lake,  and  the  mountains  opposite 
with  snow  on  them,  and  you,  my  blessed,  blessed 
little  mother,  calling  me  to  breakfast.     But  it 


CHRISTINE  249 

was  too  hot  and  distinct  and  horribly  consist- 
ent to  be  a  dream.  And  my  clothes  were  get- 
ting wetter  and  wetter  with  the  heat,  and  stick- 
ing to  me. 

I  want  to  get  to  you.  That's  all  I  think  of 
now.  There  isn't  a  train  till  tonight,  and  then 
only  as  far  as  Stuttgart.  I  expect  this  letter 
will  get  to  you  long  before  I  do,  because  I  may 
be  kept  at  Stuttgart. 

Another  officer,  higher  up  than  the  first  one, 
let  me  go.  He  was  more  decent.  He  came 
and  questioned  me,  and  said  that  as  he  couldn't 
prove  I  wasn't  American  he  preferred  to  risk 
believing  that  I  was,  rather  than  inconvenience 
a  lady  belonging  to  a  friendly  nation,  or  some- 
thing like  that.  I  don't  know  what  he  said 
really,  for  by  that  time  I  was  stupid  because  of 
the  sun  beating  down  so.  But  he  let  me  go, 
and  I  came  here  to  the  restaurant  to  get  some- 
thing to  drink.  He  came  after  me,  to  see  that 
I  was  not  further  inconvenienced,  he  said,  so 
I  thought  I'd  tell  him  I  was  going  to  marry 
one  of  his  fellow-officers.  He  changed  com- 
pletely then,  when  I  told  him  Bernd's  name 
and  regiment,  and  was  really  polite  and  really 
saw  that  I  wasn't  further  inconvenienced. 
Dear  Bernd!     Even  just  his  name  saves  me. 

I  went  to  sleep  on  the  bench  in  the  waiting 


250  CHRISTINE 

room  after  I  had  drunk  a  great  deal  of  iced 
milk.  My  fiddle-case  was  the  pillow.  Poor 
fiddle.  It  seems  such  a  useless,  futile  thing 
now. 

It  was  so  nice  lying  down  flat,  and  not  hav- 
ing to  do  anything.  The  waiter  says  there's 
a  place  I  can  wash  in,  and  I  suppose  I'd  better 
go  and  wash  after  I've  posted  this,  but  I  don't 
want  to  particularly.  I  don't  want  to  do  any- 
thing, particularly,  except  shut  my  eyes  and 
wait  till  I  get  to  you.  But  I  think  I'll  go  out 
into  the  sun  and  warm  myself  up  again,  for 
it's  cold  in  here.  Dear  mother,  I'm  a  great 
deal  nearer  to  you  than  I've  been  for  weeks. 
Won't  you  borrow  a  map,  and  see  where  Wurz- 
burg  is? 

Your  Chris. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


"THE  following  pages  contain  advertisements  of  a  few  of  the 
Macmillan  novels. 


Bromley  Neighborhood 

By  ALICE  BROWN 

Author  of  "The   Prisoner,"  "Children  of  Earth,"  "Road  to 

Castaly,"  etc. 

l2mo,  $1.50 

It  is  as  the  novelist  of  New  England  that  Alice  Brown 
has  won  the  hearts  of  thousands  of  readers.  Few  writers 
have  been  able  to  portray  with  the  sympathy  and  the  under- 
standing that  are  hers  the  sturdy  folk  "way  down  east"  or  to 
picture  so  truly  the  environment  in  which  they  have  lived. 
As  the  years  go  by  Miss  Brown  loses  none  of  her  skill  in 
her  chosen  field ;  in  fact  each  book  seems  to  be  richer  in  char- 
acterization and  more  absorbing  in  theme.  Bromley  Neighbor- 
hood, Miss  Brown's  new  novel,  is  no  exception.  It  is  a  story 
of  a  little  community  much  like  the  other  communities  which 
Miss  Brown  has  described,  and  of  the  sorrows  and  joys  of 
its  people. 

Particularly,  Bromley  Neighborhood  has  to  do  with  the 
Neales,  the  hard,  unflinching  head  of  the  house;  Mary,  his 
wife,  who  in  her  long  life  with  him  revolts  only  once  at  the 
law  which  he  lays  down,  and  their  two  sons — Ben,  likeable  but 
weak,  and  Hugh,  a  bit  of  a  visionary,  but  guided  by  high 
ideals,  a  thorough  man.  Of  equal  importance  in  the  little 
drama  that  is  worked  out  is  Ellen,  daughter  of  a  neighbor, 
who  shuns  men's  society,  to  whom  the  word  love  is  almost 
repulsive,  but  to  whom  love  comes  in  a  moment  and  forever. 
•Aunt  Tabitha,  the  silent,  mouse-like  creature  who  lives  in 
mortal  dread  of  her  brother,  Thomas  Noalc,  with  whom  by 
the  terms  of  their  father's  will  she  has  been  given  a  home, 
and  who  rarely  dares  venture  out  of  her  room  for  fear  of 
encountering  the  stern  presence  of  her  relative;  "Grissie" 
Gleason,  light-hearted,  a  lover  of  pretty  things,  who  almost 
comes  to  grief  through  her  own  thoughtlessness  and  that  of 
Ren,  and  above  all  Larry  Greene,  possibly  the  most  charming 
character  in  the  book,  a  giver  of  good  advice,  genial,  a  man 
of  parts,  whose  only  failing  is  a  too  great  fondness  for  drink 
— tlicse  are  some  of  the  others  in  Bromley  Neighborhood 
around  whom  Miss  Brown  has  written  a  most  engaging 
romance. 


THE  MACMILLAX  COMPANY 

Publishers      64-66  Fifth  Avenue     Wew  York 


His  Family 

By  ERNEST  POOLE 

i2mo,  $1.50 

"  No  devotee  of  good  fiction  will  wish  to  miss  it." — Chicago 
Daily  Tribune. 

"In  'His  Family'  Ernest  Poole  reveals  the  mind  and  the 
soul  of  an  American  business  man  at  home  and  at  work. 
Mr.  Poole  has  written  a  very  fine,  a  very  truthful,  a  very 
appealing  novel.  It  is  peculiarly  American  in  its  atmosphere, 
in  its  theme,  in  its  characters,  and  it  is  far  more  representa- 
tive of  American  life  as  it  actually  is  than  tales  of  the  West 
and  tales  of  the  slums  that  deliberately  wear  that  label  for  the 
purpose  of  deluding  us  into  thinking  that  they  represent  the 
sum  and  substance  of  our  social  characteristics  and  national 
existence.  It  combines  the  best  of  the  romantic  with  the 
best  of  the  realistic,  and  it  proves  Mr.  Poole  to  be  gifted 
with  a  sense  of  the  necessity  for  truth  in  fiction  as  well  as 
with  a  rare  imaginative  insight.  If  English  or  French  read- 
ers, or  readers  of  any  other  nation,  wish  to  gain  an  accurate 
knowledge  of  life  as  it  is  lived  in  an  American  family  and 
an  American  community,  they  need  only  read  Mr.  Poole's 
novel." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  the  greatest  story  that  has  come  from  the  publishers 
this  spring;  great  in  its  grasp  of  life,  great  in  its  masterful 
handling  of  pressing  social  and  educational  problems,  and 
above  all,  great  in  the  sincerity  of  its  purpose." — Philadelphia 
Evening  Ledger. 

"  If  the  great  novel  of  New  York  City  is  to  be  written 
Ernest  Poole  is  far  and  away  the  most  promising  candidate 
for  the  distinction.  He  has  come  so  close  to  that  achievement 
in  '  His  Family '  that  only  the  verdict  of  time  can  be  authorita- 
tive as  to  the  standing  of  his  book." — Brooklyn  Daily  Eagk. 

"  Will  materially  strengthen  Mr.  Poole's  position  in  Ameri- 
can letters  for  those  who  have  read  it  pronounce  it  even  more 
vivid  and  masterly  study  of  life  than  was  '  The  Harbor.' " — 
A'^.  Y.  Telegraph. 


THE  MACMTLLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers      64-66  Fifth  Avenue      New  York 


'NEW  MACMILLAN  FICTION, 

Changing  Winds 

By  ST.  JOHN  G.  ERVINE 

$i.6o 

Wells  has  pictured  the  tragedy  of  war  as  it  falls 
upon  people  looking  as  it  were  the  other  way.  Mr. 
Ervine  in  this  novel  "Changing  Winds,"  shows  the 
same  tragic  force  falling  upon  four  young  men  as 
sparkling  and  vehemently  alive  as  ever  were,  looking 
directly  and  intently  at  life  in  all  its  aspects;  and  ac- 
cepting war  (all  but  one  of  them)  almost  blithely  when 
it  comes. 

"We  do  not  believe  a  thoughtful  reader  will  wish  to 
skip  any  of  the  571  pages  in  Changing  Winds,"  says 
the  Boston  Herald  of  St.  John  G.  Ervine's  new  book. 
"It  is  easily  the  most  robust  novel  of  recent  months. 
...  It  is  refreshing  to  find  an  Irishman  able  to  write 
about  Ireland  sanely  and  a  pleasure  to  discover  in 
Changing  Winds  one  who  seems  likely  to  rank  with 
this  generation's  foremost  writers  of  English  fiction." 

This  opinion  as  to  Ervine's  place  in  literature  is  sec- 
onded by  William  Lyon  Phelps  of  Yale  University.  "I 
have  read  Changing  IVinds  with  great  interest,"  he 
writes.  "I  think  Mr.  Ervine  is  one  of  the  ablest  of 
our  contemporary  novelists." 

"A  thoughtful,  absorbingly  interesting  novel." — ► 
New  York  Times. 

"Distinctly  one  of  the  more  important  works  of 
fiction  of  the  season  .  .  .  achnirably  done  and  is  both 
touching  and  dramatic." — Outlook. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers     64-66  Fifth  Avenue     New  York 


The  Banks  of  Colne 


By  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 
Author  of  "  Green  Alleys,"  "  Old  Delabole,'  etc 

12°,  $1.50 

The  plot  and  characters  of  Mr.  Phillpotts'  new 
novel,  "The  Banks  of  Colne"  are  drawn  from  two  in- 
tensely interesting  industries  of  the  Devonshire  coun- 
try— a  great  flower  nursery  and  landscape  gardening 
concern,  and  the  oyster  fisheries  on  the  coast. 

The  story  develops  in  a  leisurely  way  with  the  re- 
markable descriptions  of  nature  which  have  character- 
ized all  of  Mr.  Phillpotts'  writings.  The  people  are 
real.  They  have  grown  up  out  of  the  soil  on  which 
they  play  out  their  little  drama,  and  the  natural  set- 
tings seem  to  envelop  and  color  their  souls.  This 
quality  is  partly  a  result  of  Mr.  Phillpotts*  way  of 
working.  He  goes  to  the  locality  which  is  to  be  the 
scene  of  his  story,  and  there  he  lives  among  the  people, 
getting  to  know  them  intimately  and  discovering  the 
fundamental  relations  between  the  people  and  back- 
ground. 

"As  long  as  we  have  such  novelists  as  Mr.  Phill- 
potts we  need  have  no  fears  for  the  future  of  Eng- 
lish fiction." — Boston  Transcript. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers     64-66  Fifth  Avenue     Few  Tock 


The  Empty  House 


ANONYMOUS 

Frontispiece,  J2mo,  $1.40 

It  is  a  brilliant  and  searching  story  having  to  do  with  the 
problem  of  the  modern  childless  woman.  The  theme  is  one  to 
attract  attention  at  once  and  the  author's  treatment  of  it  re- 
veals not  only  the  hand  of  the  practiced  writer  but  the  thought, 
the  analysis,  of  the  keen  student  of  modern  society. 

The  story  is  told  in  the  first  person,  the  supposed  narrator 
being  a  young  woman  who  in  her  childhood  learns  that  her 
mother  was  killed  by  bearing  children.  The  consequence  of 
this  revelation  is  the  firm  resolve  never  to  have  a  child  her- 
self. 

This  determination  assumes  dramatic  qualities  when  in  later 
life  she  falls  in  love  with  and  marries  a  young  man  of  great 
gifts  and  settles  down  to  what  promises  to  be  a  comfortable, 
respectable  and  enjoyable  existence.  Ere  long,  however,  the 
wife  finds  herself  confronted  with  her  early  decision.  In  .1 
most  natural  way  the  plot  develops  a  situation  of  intensity  in 
which  the  heroine  finds  her  entire  future  happiness  involved 
in  her  decision  not  to  have  children.  While  primarily  a  story 
— and  an  interesting  and  even  exciting  one — in  its  course  all 
the  various  points  of  view  of  this  great  problem  are  pre- 
sented with  telling  effect. 

There  will  doubtless  be  many  "guesses"  ha/^arded  as  to  the 
authorship  of  The  Empty  House,  which  will  probably  include 
the  names  of  many  of  the  leading  women  novelists  of  the  day. 
In  technique  and  literary  style,  in  observation  and  general 
comment  on  life,  there  is  many  an  evidence  that  it  is  not  the 
work  of  an  amateur! 

One  critic,  pronounces  The  Empty  //(7Mjc  "Sensational!" 
"There  is  an  argument  in  it,  to  l)c  sure,  centering  around  the 
proI)lem  of  the  modern  childless  woman.  But  if  you  do  not 
want  to  be  bothered  with  arguments,  you  can  ignore  it. 
Either   way  you  have   a   fascinating  talc." 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Pnblishers      64-66  Fifth  Avenue      New  York 


DATE  DUE 

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